


A Year and A Day

by House of Halation (glasshibou)



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: F/M, Fake Dating, Female MC - Freeform, I guess technically I should tag for character death but like... she gets better, I have a fever and am running on two hours of sleep LET'S DO THIS, M/M, MC/everyone - Freeform, Multi, Slow Burn, bed sharing, forgive me if this has been done already I'm new here, just so many tropes because i'm stuck in quarantine without much better to do, not really a work of literary art though, slaps roof of fic, taking a visual novel and turning it into a novel novel, this bad boy can fit so many tropes in it, vague allusions to original plot, we're doing the lilith thing a little differently here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 68
Words: 225,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasshibou/pseuds/House%20of%20Halation
Summary: Spend a year in the Devildom as part of some prince's pet project? Yeah. Sure. She can do that. At least, she hopes so.(Filling in the blanks from the game because a whole year in another realm is a rather long time.)
Relationships: Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s), Asmodeus/Solomon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s), Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s), Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s), Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 667
Kudos: 690





	1. Welcome to Devildom

The entire contents of Eleanor’s life fit into three packing boxes, one small suitcase, and a manila file folder stuffed with paperwork. She leans back on her bare mattress and stares at the ceiling of her new bedroom, mapping out the whorls in the white paint and the small stain tucked away in the corner. A siren blares from somewhere down the street and Eleanor sits up, considering the noise. 

It isn’t a particularly dangerous part of town, but it _is_ within her price range. Hardly a gated community. But it’s close to campus and within walking distance of the little market, and for the next week, at least, it’s all hers. Until her roommates move in for the semester.

Deciding that she’d done enough moving for the time being and that exploring her surroundings would do her more good than sitting in the quiet and dark, Eleanor slips her boots on and drops her file folder on the sad-looking kitchen table. One of the legs is mis-matched, and it wobbles under the new weight. Her case worker has a week--just until the semester begins--to sign the last bit of paperwork, but Eleanor knows that she’ll leave it off until the last possible moment. She sighs, runs her hand through her hair, and locks her apartment behind her. 

The siren has died down, but the noise is replaced by laughter and shouting from the bar down the street. Early-arriving students like her, no doubt. Eleanor follows the noise; it’s late, but not late enough that the bar would have stopped serving whatever shitty food they usually did. She pauses on her stoop. 

_Help_. 

Eleanor’s head snaps up and she peers into the dark of the street; some of the street lamps are out or flickering and suddenly, she starts feeling a little uneasy. She taps her keys against her thigh, trying to determine if she actually heard something. Noise from the bar down the way spills out onto the street. 

“Hello?” She calls out, holding her bag close to her side.

 _… Help me_. 

Okay, _that_ she definitely hears like a clear bell cutting through the silence. _Shit_ , she thinks, running her hand through her hair again. _First day here and already…_

“I’m calling the cops,” she calls out into the dark, fishing her phone out of her bag. “Just hang on a second.” She hopes her tone is reassuring. 

The cry comes from the alleyway across from her apartment again, sounding pained. Eleanor swears under her breath and steps out into the street. Her phone rings and rings and rings and _since when does a dispatcher not pick up?_ She thinks, checking her phone screen to double check. Eleanor edges closer to the alleyway just as whoever it is in the dark cries out again.

 _Stupid, stupid_ , she thinks. _This is so stupid, I’m so stupid_. She steps into the alleyway and turns on the flashlight on her phone. The weak light is swallowed up by the preternatural darkness. 

“Hey—” she calls out, fear edging into her voice. Her eyes aren’t adjusting to the darkness and she takes a half step back. 

Except her foot doesn’t land on asphalt. It doesn’t land on anything at all.

* * *

 _Where am I?_ She wonders, rubbing her wrist and picking herself up from the tiled floor. _Wait_ , she pauses, her fingers curling against the cool floor. _Tiles? Stone?_ Eleanor opens her eyes slowly, peeking through her lashes. Her surroundings are still dark, but she is decidedly not in the grimy alleyway she was sure she’d been in just a second ago. Dark stone flooring gives way to dark wood paneling and deep purple wall hangings. Her gaze sweeps towards the only source of light in the room and she freezes. 

One of the walls is completely taken up by windows, which show a vast night sky with a moon that seems far, far too close hanging ominously above the landscape. But though the moon is strange, it is not what catches her attention. No, that is taken up by the thronelike seats on a raised dais, and the men sitting in them. Some of them are empty. 

Her mouth goes dry and she takes a quick survey of herself; she has a headache, but it’s not bad enough for her to think she’d been drugged. Her wrist aches, but that’s most likely a consequence of landing hard on it after she… tripped? Was pushed? The idea of having been kidnapped whirls through her head before it’s just as quickly dismissed; she was a broke college and clearly had no money to her name. There was no benefit to holding her hostage. There would be no one to pay a ransom.

“Welcome to the Devildom,” the man in the center speaks, looking unbearably pleased with himself. He holds his arms open wide, as if searching for a hug, but then lowers them when I don’t move or speak. There’s something off about him, something that Eleanor can’t place that has nothing to do with the militaristic medal decorating his uniform. She narrows her eyes, and then it hits her: _yellow eyes_. He has yellow eyes in a shade that cannot be natural.

“Pardon me,” he says when she remains silent, looking chastened. “You must be feeling a bit shocked.”

Eleanor nods once, haltingly, trying to find her voice. _Devildom_? _This has to be a dream_. Except that it’s usually only her nightmares that are this vivid. She can feel the cool floor against her legs, the pain in her wrist, the cloth on her skin. It’s _not normal_. 

“That’s understandable. You’ve only just arrived, after all.” His cheer is back. “As a human, it will likely take you some time to adjust to things here in the Devildom. That is why you will be accompanied for your entire stay here.”

Eleanor rubs her forehead, feeling her headache reach new heights. “Devildom?” She asks, mostly to herself. _That’s it_ , she decides, _this is some weird dream, and now that I’ve figured it out, I’ll wake up any second._

“Yes, exactly! The Devildom. I see that you catch on quickly. Excellent. I suppose that I should start by introducing myself.”

He looks down at Eleanor from his throne and smiles encouragingly. With the eyes of so many other witnesses on her, she can’t help but to feel that she’s on trial for a crime she can’t remember committing. The other men haven’t spoken yet and look varying degrees of bored, disinterested, or angry. She eyes the disgruntled-looking redhead and wonders what backstory her subconscious came up with for him. 

“My name is Diavolo,” he says, and then pauses as if waiting for some sort of recognition to hit. Eleanor stares up at him blankly. _Is that Italian or something?_ She wonders, trying to think of anything that sounded similar in her waking life. 

“I am the ruler of all demons, and all here know me. And someday soon, I will be crowned king of the Devildom.”

“Neat,” Eleanor says, looking from him to the other men to the windows behind them all. The landscape outside looked nothing like the city she’d last been awake in. Glimmering lights form shining towers down below. She pinches the soft skin behind her knee, trying to wake herself up. 

Diavolo explains that she’s at RAD, Diavolo’s own royal academy—a nervous laugh bubbles from her lips at the name—in the assembly hall. He explains that the others with him were also demons and that they formed the student council as Eleanor fights the urge to laugh in hysterics. 

_Why can’t I wake up?_ She thinks, digging her nails into the side of her thigh now. The pinches hadn’t worked. People weren’t supposed to experience pain in dreams, right? But her pinches were already bruising and her nails almost drew blood.

“Why am I here?” She asks, but Eleanor isn’t sure if she’s asking her bizarre dream manifestation or herself. Diavolo brightens at her spark of inquisitiveness and leans forward.

“You are here to help usher in a new age of peace between the Devildom, the Celestial Realm, and the human world.”

Okay. No pressure. Eleanor eyes him, waiting for him to continue. He launches into an explanation of the man—demon—sitting directly to his right; his name is Lucifer, he’s the Avatar of Pride, and he’s the vice president of the student council. Eleanor’s head swims with the new information, which directly contrasts all of… well, everything she’d ever expected. Not that she’d ever _expected_ to be dreaming about the devil being a member of any student council but, well, dream world. It’s the only explanation she can come up with. 

“Aren’t you supposed to have, you know…” she holds her index fingers up against her head, mimicking horns. Lucifer frowns at her, which Eleanor doesn’t take to heart. The dream is weird, but so far it isn’t nightmarish. And if it _does_ turn into a nightmare, well, she has to wake up at some point, and it will be over.

“Speaking on behalf of the entire student body at this great and storied school of ours, I offer you a most heartfelt welcome, Eleanor.” He _says_ it with a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes at all. 

“That’s very nice and all, but _why am I here?_ ” Her patience for the dream was waning quickly, and she would really rather wake up now, thank you very much. There’s a pause as if none of her dream creations can believe she’d asked such a blunt question, and Eleanor crosses her arms. “Answer my question,” she grouches, trying to remember which box held her Tylenol. If the headache follows her into the waking world, then it was going to be one hell of a morning.

“...Interesting,” Lucifer says, a real smile ghosting across his face. “This one is different from Solomon,” he says to Diavolo, who looks ecstatic. Lucifer turns his attention back to Eleanor, and for the first time, she realizes that she hasn’t moved from the floor. 

“You are part of an exchange program between the realms to strengthen their bonds. Two of our students have been sent to your world, two to the Celestial Realm, and in exchange, we are hosting two students from each realm as well. You will stay here for one year, after which you will submit a writeup of your experience here.”

Eleanor’s mouth opens, and closes, and then she frowns at him. “A paper? This dream is _bullshit_.”

One of the men laughs and then hides his mouth behind his hands while Eleanor’s frown deepens. 

“I’m not telling you to write a doctoral thesis,” Lucifer says drily, ignoring Eleanor’s proclamation that she was experiencing little more than an irritating dream. “You can take it easy. _Don’t_ glare at me like that; I will not abandon you all by yourself here in the Devildom.”

“That’s a relief,” Eleanor says with a roll of her eyes, struggling to her feet; one of her legs has fallen asleep, and the pins-and-needles feeling is not a welcome one. She tries to go through her evening and remember exactly when she’d made it back to her apartment. Eleanor remembers leaving, locking her door, and then…

Someone called for help…

Eleanor closes her eyes and tries to think harder. _And then I woke up here, except…_ She opens her eyes and jumps back reflexively because Lucifer is _far too close_ now, and holding something out to her. 

“This is a D.D.D.; think of it like a cell phone from your realm. The numbers of my brothers and myself,” Lucifer pauses to indicate the other men, excluding Diavolo, “are programmed into it already. Now,” he pauses, looking at Eleanor with a sadistic gleam in his eye. Eleanor swallows hard, steeling herself for whatever was to come next. _I think I’m not dreaming_ , she thinks, and flinches when Lucifer pries open her hand to drop the phone into it. 

“You need someone to look after you, and I think that someone should be my brother, Mammon. He’s the Avatar of Greed and… How should I put it…? Ah, well, you’ll understand soon enough.” His lips quirk into a smile. _Shit, shit, shit_ , Eleanor thinks, her eyes wide. She stares at Lucifer and then the device in her hands. It looks just like any other cell phone, except it has a faint red sheen to it. And she can feel the cool weight of it in her hand. _When was the last time I could feel something in a dream?_ She asks herself, scouring her memory banks and coming up blank. 

Lucifer looks at her expectantly. They _all_ look at her expectantly. 

“I…” She pauses to lick her dry lips. Instead of throwing the phone onto the ground and fleeing like she wants so, she lifts a shaking finger and slides it against the screen, unlocking it. _Mammon, he said Mammon_ , she reminds herself, selecting his name and then the call button. The line rings. Eleanor waits, holding it up to her ear, ignoring the watchful gazes of the demons surrounding her. She’s aware that her heart is beating far too quickly and how it feels like it almost stops when someone picks up.

“Yooooo,” someone on the other end of the line says, sounding bored.

“Yoooo,” Eleanor replies back, her voice too high from nerves and shaking. She hates how it sounds.

“Are ya foolin’ around? Who the hell are ya?” Eleanor winces and pulls the phone away from her face, searching for help from someone, anyone, but there is none to be found.

“Um. I’m a human.” Her voice is just barely stronger this time, though she keeps the speaker angled away from her ear in case the demon has another outburst. Lucifer looks bored, as if his brother’s noise is unremarkable. _Maybe it is_ , Eleanor thinks grimly.

“Whaaa?” The voice on the other end says “A human? Geez, I was gettin' all chilly here thinkin' it was Lucifer again. Ya should’ve told me right away.” A pause. “So, what business does a human got with _the_ Mammon?” 

_Oh no_ , Eleanor thinks, frowning. _He’s full of himself_ . Eleanor glances at Lucifer, who seems totally unfazed by the entire exchange. _This is punishment for mouthing off_. But the alternative—being torn limb from limb, perhaps, or roasted over a fire—was worse. Probably. At least, she _thought_ it would be worse. 

“You’re in charge of me from now on. I guess.” 

Eleanor’s words trigger a volley of grumbles and denials; Eleanor listens and secretly agrees that the whole thing is ridiculous. Lucifer slips the D.D.D. out of her grip, holds up a finger to indicate that she should be silent, and speaks into the phone.

“ _Mammon_ ,” he says firmly. From the device, Eleanor can hear a shouted _yes, sir_ , which prompts a few chuckles from the still-seated demons. _Brothers_ she reminds herself, trying to find any familial characteristics between them. Beyond their unnatural beauty, there’s none to be found. 

“Sounds like you had a nice chat,” Lucifer says, handing the D.D.D. back to her. _Was that a joke?_ She wanted to ask him. She purses her lips instead, tapping the phone screen with her nail.

“... He seems reliable,” Eleanor says, returning sarcasm for sarcasm. Lucifer blinks at her one, and she is _almost_ sure that she sees surprise on his face for half of a second.

“You really think so?”

Of course she doesn't; she’d have to be insane to think that _any_ of the demons were reliable, dream or not. That was their whole thing, wasn’t it? To lead humans astray. 

“Well,” Diavolo says, shaking his head. “If _you_ were suddenly brought to a strange place and then got told that an unfamiliar face would be taking care of you, you’d certainly feel anxious and want that person to be reliable,” Diavolo shoots Lucifer a look that almost seems scolding. “However, Mammon isn’t the only one who will be helping you out. We still need to introduce our new friend to your brothers, Lucifer! And it’s probably better that you do that instead of me, wouldn’t you say?”

If Diavolo wasn’t the crown prince of the Devildom, Eleanor is sure that Lucifer would have replied negatively based on the way his lips twitch. Instead, he sighs. 

“As much as I _dread_ the idea of doing so, you’re right.”

Eleanor only half listens to the introductions, still trying to take stock of her situation. _Okay, so if this isn’t a dream… What then?_ She’s still waiting to wake up, still looking for ways to launch herself into wakefulness. The palm of her hand is scraped from the fall, and now that she has a moment to inspect her legs, she can see that her right knee also sports a brush burn. The knee of her tights is torn open, and Eleanor frowns. _I liked these_ , she thinks sadly.

And she’s brought out of her reverie but a hand on her chin, gently pushing her face up to stare into warm, honey-colored eyes. The demon looks down at her appraisingly. 

“She’ll do,” he says, but he doesn’t let go of her face. 

“Hey—” she protests, stumbling back and rubbing where he’d touched. _Asmodeus_ , the name clicks in her mind. _Avatar of Lust_. _Little surprise there_ , she thinks before another of the brothers—Satan, which almost makes her break into hysterical, terrified laughter—complains that he’s been ignored. Lucifer’s lips curl in distaste as he warns Eleanor to be wary of the Avatar of Wrath. _He doesn’t seem so bad_ , Eleanor thinks. _He at least used my name_.

But all charitable thoughts disappear when he flashes Lucifer a smile wide enough to show teeth that speaks of no joy. 

“If you keep saying nonsense, you’ll scare poor Eleanor,” Satan says, malice rolling off of him. _Too late,_ Eleanor thinks. “Lucifer enjoys speaking ill of his brothers,” he adds when he notices Eleanor looking at him. 

Beelzebub is introduced next, proclaiming that he’s hungry; Eleanor does _not_ appreciate the look he gives her and is appreciative when Lucifer scolds his brother. She could almost hear the unspoken _don’t eat the human_ warning.

“There are seven of us brothers in all, and I am the eldest. Mammon, the second eldest, will be here soon.” 

Eleanor takes a quick head count, feeling dizzier than ever. _One, two, three… Two missing,_ Eleanor thinks, and she is about to voice her question when Lucifer interrupts her.

“We will get to them in good time. Just know that during your stay here and to keep you safe, we will lend you our strength; to accommodate this, you will be staying with us in the House of Lamentation.”

This is what finally breaks Eleanor. She laughs, hugging herself for comfort. 

“To keep me _safe?_ ” She asks, shoulders shaking. Asmodeus pouts. Lucifer looks angry at her outburst. Beelzebub still looks disgruntled and Satan looks at her like she’s sprouted another head. It’s _too much_ , and Eleanor can feel tears welling in her eyes. 

“It would be our responsibility if anything happened to you,” Lucifer intones. “I will not betray Diavolo’s expectations. To that end, I will do everything in my power to make sure you survive your stay down here in the Devildom.” 

She believes that he believes his words, but the fact is that she has never felt so unsafe as she does now, surrounded by a crowd of demons. _A crowd of demons who happen to represent the seven deadly sins_. The thought almost makes her cry.

But still, after mouthing off to _Lucifer himself_ and the crown prince of demons, Eleanor is still alive. She counts this as a point in her favor, even though part of her is still clinging to the hope that the whole thing was a terrible, awful stress dream. Eleanor focuses on picking up her shattered nerves--

And immediately fails when there’s an almighty _bang_ behind her, signaling the heavy doors of the hall being thrown open. A muffled moan of fear escapes her lips and she hugs herself again, trying to make herself as small of a target as possible. 

“Oh, _Mammon_. Already making your new lady friend moan. How _sordid_.” Asmodeus chides the newcomer, and Eleanor gives up any hope of keeping her sanity intact. Following the gazes of everyone else, she turns to see that Mammon—her supposed guardian—is striding towards her, looking pissed as hell.

“Just who the hell do you think you are, human? You’ve got a lotta nerve summoning the _Great Mammon_!” He holds a finger out as he strides towards Eleanor, who backs away as quickly as he approaches her.

“Listen up, ‘cause I’m only gonna say this once; if you value your life, then you’ll hand over all of your money, now! Anything else of value, too!”

Eleanor stops in her tracks and offers up a shaky grin. _Money? He wants… Oh, yeah. Avatar of Greed_. She ignores his threats, lets them wash over her like background noise. Mammon causes more commotion, some fighting between the brothers—

And then Lucifer punches Mammon. Eleanor winces at the noise that fist against flesh causes, but the punch has its desired effect: Mammon’s focus is off of Eleanor and back onto Lucifer. Nobody else reacts, as if this is a perfectly normal thing. _And maybe it is_ , Eleanor thinks, wondering what the dynamics of a demon family look like. _I have a feeling I’m going to find out_. 

“He’s a masochist,” Asmodeus fake-whispers in Eleanor’s ear, pulling some of her hair away from her neck in a way that makes her shiver. He’s loud enough that she’s sure everyone else hears him. “Gets him all hot and bothered. Keep that in mind; you might find that useful.”

“I _ain’t_ a masochist,” Mammon snarls, turning on Asmodeus. Lucifer holds him back by the jacket, looking incredibly bored by the whole situation.

“Hm. I have a job for my masochist of a brother; Mammon, _you_ are going to be in charge of seeing to this human’s needs during the whole exchange. I expect your _full_ cooperation.” Lucifer speaks as if he was accustomed to giving orders _—_ and he probably _is_ , Eleanor realizes. Vice president of a demonic student council and all. 

“Why _me?”_ Mammon complains.

“Aww, lucky you! I’m so jealous,” Asmodeous simpers, clapping a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder. She shrugs him off. 

“Then why don’t _you—_ ”

“Too lazy,” Asmodeous counters, and even though he’s standing behind her, Eleanor can hear the grin in his voice. 

Mammon continues to grouse about his lot in life while Satan reminds him of the futility of fighting against Lucifer. Eleanor ignores the sibling squabbles, settling her gaze on Lucifer. When he makes eye contact, she has to struggle not to look away. 

“Fact is I can’t promise I _wouldn’t_ eat her,” Beelzebub says, snapping Eleanor out of the accidental staring contest she found herself in. _What_? She mouths, aghast. Not believing for a second that it would do her any good if he actually _did_ get peckish, she takes a half step back. 

“ _Surely_ , Mammon, you’re not going to object to this arrangement.” 

Lucifer throws down the gauntlet, daring his brother to object again. And, seemingly to the surprise of everyone assembled, he did not. 

“Ugh,” he says instead. “Fine. Human, come with me, and _keep up_.”

Eleanor has a split second to prepare herself before Mammon wraps his hand around her wrist—the sore one—and drags her along after him. Eleanor yelps and struggles to keep up.

“Byeee,” Asmodeus calls out, offering Eleanor a cheerful little wave. She doesn’t see the look that most of the brothers exchange, just like she doesn’t see how Lucifer pinches the bridge of his nose.


	2. A Rocky Start

Eleanor has never been a fan of being manhandled, Especially not by strangers. _Especially_ especially not by _demon_ strangers, she is learning. She protests the treatment, but if he hears her at all he ignores her, choosing instead to plow through the front doors of the academic building. The only glimpses she’s able to catch of the inside are of the ancient tapestries and little gargoyles that decorate the corners of the hallways. Outside is a different matter; the swollen moon hangs above them, providing just enough light for Eleanor to see a sprawling campus with castle-like buildings dotting the green. Unnaturally colored lights flicker in some of the windows.

“Let _go_ ,” she says, yanking her arm out of his grasp as soon as she detects a pause in his movement. He whirls on her and she offers him only a scowl as she massages where he had his hand, hoping it wouldn’t bruise. _If this is even all real_ , she takes care to remind herself. 

“Listen,” he says after a quick once-over that has Eleanor’s scowl deepening. “This is a huge pain in the ass. I don’t wanna look after you, but I’ve got no choice.” The demon turns on his heel and motions for her to follow him. Nervous about being left behind, Eleanor does, careful to keep a healthy distance between them. 

“Sorr- _y_ ,” she grumbles. “I didn’t _ask_ for a babysitter.” She misses the incredulous glance he throws her.

“Whatever. Look, I’m too important for this sort of shit, but Lucifer told me to do it, so I will. But you’re _not_ gonna cause me any problems, got it? Keep moving,” he orders when he notices Eleanor slowing down to look at her surroundings. She shoots him a dirty look.

“Sure. Fine. Look, I’m here for a year, but I’ve got my own life… topside,” she says, testing out the word. When he doesn’t immediately laugh at it, she decides it will work. “Classes I have to take to maintain scholarships that I need and--well, how does this work? Do I get, like… magical transcripts?” She mimics using a wand but quits the pantomime as soon as she sees the disgusted look on his face.

“Nerd,” he mutters. “Just remember which one of us is in charge here, got it? As for _classes_ ,” he spits out the word like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, “Lucifer’ll hand down tasks. Probably’ll be about making your _human_ soul all shiny and tempting and shit.”

So wants, so badly, to ask just what the _hell_ he means by ‘tempting soul’, but is interrupted by her phone chiming. Messages pop up one after the other and she swipes through the first, a sticker of a kissy face from Asmodeus. Diavolo sent her his contact information and another paragraph about his hopes for the program, which makes her bite her lip. _No pressure though, right? Just maybe the fate of human-demon relations rests partly on your shoulders._

Beelzebub asks for food, and Eleanor nervously pats her hip where her bag usually would be. 

**«I have a lollipop in my bag, if that’s in the assembly hall. Have it»** , she types back, hoping that if she can at least prove some sort of worth, he won’t actually eat her. His response is encouraging, and she allows herself a weak smile at the screen.

“If you’re gonna ignore me for the whole time, it’s gonna be a really fuckin’ _annoying year_ ,” Mammon says, almost making Eleanor drop the D.D.D. She looks up at him, eyes wide, and pockets the phone.

“Sorry,” she says, actually a little contrite. “Let’s make it a… a year to remember though.” 

_Humor_. She can do humor; she can keep making harmless little wisecracks until she either wakes up or determines it is absolutely, definitely not a dream. With every step the hope that she might just wake up disappears just a little more.

“You’re… a positive one.” He pauses, and after a beat points out to the other side of the campus, towards a huge building. “That’s the House of Lamentation, where you’ll be staying with all of us. It’s the dorm reserved for student council members. Now _get a move on_.”

And they’re off again, with Mammon refusing to take her shorter stride into consideration. _At least he’s not getting handsy this time_ , Eleanor thinks bitterly. 

“Don’t go thinkin' I’m scared of Lucifer or anything. ‘Cause I’m _not_ . I _can_ say no to him, if I really want to. Pick my battles.” He’s trying to reassure himself as much as he is her; that much is obvious. Not that she blamed him, exactly. Lucifer looked scary. 

“Yeah, I know that,” she says, even though she emphatically did not. The answer mollified him, though, and he stood a little straighter. 

“... Oh. Okay. So long as we got that straight.” He turns and looks at me for a second, and Eleanor can’t read his expression through the shadows. “Look, Lucifer, Asmo, and all the others take every chance they can to insult me. Callin’ me scum, sayin’ I’m a money grubber and shit. But I’m a student council officer same as them. Elite of the elite. _Top_ of the RAD social pyramid. A big shot, even. A _real_ big shot; like, other big shots are impressed by what a big shot I am.”

“Okay,” she says patiently. “I won’t forget that.” If he feels the need to exalt himself every chance he got—fine. Eleanor had met worse. 

“In fact, I--what? Oh.” Mammon goes silent and directs Eleanor to a large house— _no_ , she thinks. _Castle? A manor, at the very least_. The House of Lamentation is gated off from the rest of the campus, separated with a stately iron fence. She counts three, maybe four floors and a greenhouse tucked away in the back. Her attention is off of him, and he’s irritated again. She was _supposed_ to be in awe that he, the second-born of the seven rulers of hell, was bothering to pay any attention to her whatsoever. Instead, she stared up at the house with a starstruck expression on her face.

“Let’s just find your room,” he says, defeated, unlatching the gate and pushing it open easily. Her gaze wanders skyward, towards the spiraling peaks of the tallest tower. Mammon frowns at her--which she ignores, which is really, _really_ grating on his nerves—and pushes her forward into the actual house. Eleanor stops in the doorway, taking in the two grand staircases, the paintings on the wall, the tall, tall ceiling of the main foyer.

“Don’t just stand there with your jaw open. Hurry up or I’m gonna leave you behind.”

Eleanor nods slowly, still craning her neck to see as much of the space as she can as he hurries her through the entrance. Pounding from upstairs barely registers for her, but it makes Mammon stop and grab both of her shoulders.

“Hey, uh, listen, there’s something you gotta know,” Mammon says, leaning down to be closer to her level. “If it ever looks like a demon is gonna attack you… Run away. Or die. No skin off my nose.” 

_That_ snaps Eleanor out of her wonder, and she looks at him, startled. Her own irritation quickly overcomes her startlement.

“Excuse me?” She says, but half of her words are overtaken by more pounding, and then the slamming of a door, and Eleanor is reminded with a sharp burst of pain that her head hurts.

“ _MAMMON!”_ The pounding from upstairs has turned into a bellow, and Eleanor has just enough time to step out of the blur’s way. “I’m gonna kill you! Where is my money?!” The blur, it turns out, is another man.

“Human, this is Leviathan, the Avatar of Envy. You can call him Levi.” Mammon ducks out of the way of Levi’s fist, which comes dangerously close to careening into his face. 

“Mammon, give me back my money, and then _go crawl into a hole and die_.”

“I just need a little more time,” Mammon says casually, sliding his hands into his pockets. Eleanor steps back and looks between both of them, wondering if the situation will really devolve into fisticuffs and if she should make herself scarce if it does.

“And _I_ need it to buy the Blu-Ray box set of _Journey to the Devildom: the Tale of a Little She-Devil and Her Reluctant Companion_.” 

“Can’t give you back money I don’t have,” Mammon says with a wink. “So I’m gonna have to pass this time. Hey, human,” he addresses Eleanor, ruffling her hair with a hand. “Remember what I just said? It’s either you or me, and it _ain’t_ gonna be me.”

“Wha-?”

But it’s too late. Before she can even think to react, try to grab his jacket, _something_ , he’s gone. She gapes at his absence and is painfully aware of the blisteringly angry demon behind her. She takes a moment to curse the fact that she took yoga instead of anything actually _useful_ for her physical education credits. 

“Um,” she says intelligently, turning to face the fuming demon. “Hi.” Levi looks at her appraisingly, and Eleanor fidgets under his scrutiny, feeling like she’s lacking something. She tugs at the hem of her skirt, making sure it’s straight.

“Stupid,” he spits out. “You realize what just happened? He used you as a distraction… or rather, a _sacrifice_. Scumbag.” Eleanor resists the irrational urge to defend the demon who had just abandoned her. 

“Pretty dumb of you to let him use you like that. This is exactly why humans are—” He interrupts himself and looks at Eleanor again, his eyes lighting up with a manic glee that makes Eleanor nervous. 

“It’s not like I know a whole lot about what’s going—” She starts to defend herself.

“That’s _it!_ ” Levi crows, startling Eleanor when he gets close to her. She inhales sharply, dreading the plan that she can see developing in his mind. 

“You’re _human!_ You’re free right now?”

“Well, I—”

“Of course you are,” he interrupts again. “You’ve gotta be. Either way, you’re coming with me.” Levi grabs her by the sleeve of her sweater, carefully maneuvering her so that he doesn’t make skin-to-skin contact. It’s a harsh contrast to Asmodeus, and even Mammon, but he’s still strong enough that she fears for the safety of her sleeve seam. The beeping of her phone goes unnoticed as she’s pulled, yet again, at the behest of a demon. 

The stairs she’s dragged up are a warm wood, offering a stark contrast to the cold stone of the assembly hall. Levi stops suddenly, and Eleanor is too distracted by her new surroundings and the chaos of the past few minutes to notice.

“Ow,” she complains, rubbing her nose. It _hurt_ when she’d stumbled into his back, and he didn’t even have the good grace to notice. Instead, he looks up and down the hallway as if there were things lurking— _there might be_ , Eleanor reminds herself—and then opens the door.

And shoves her inside. 

Eleanor stumbles into what is clearly a bedroom, bathed in soft blue light. It looks like an aquarium; jellyfish dangle from the ceiling, and an entire wall is made up of glass. A large fish swims by and Eleanor jumps and looks at Levi, bewildered.

“What is happen _—_ ”

“I can’t have people knowing that I brought _you_ , a normie, into my room,” he huffs, crossing his arms. “Can you _imagine_ what they’d say?”

“ _What?_ ” Eleanor asks, irritated that it’s quickly becoming the most abused word in her lexicon. “Worried someone will gossip?” She’s taken aback when he stiffens and shields his eyes from her, blushing but trying to hide it. The soft blue light makes it difficult to tell, but Eleanor is pretty certain that he is. 

“Of c-course not,” he says, not managing to sound convincing at all. “That’s _crazy —_ humans are—I’ve only got room in my heart for _one_ person, and she’s the lovely, animated Ruri-chan. Anyone who thinks that I’d be into _you_ would have to be _insane_.”

The smile that was growing on Eleanor’s face falls and she crosses her arms.

“You don’t have to be rude about it,” she mutters, deciding that she’d really rather look at anything but him. Gravitating towards an impressive bookcase, she reaches out and runs a finger down the spine of one. Leather bound. She’s almost impressed, despite herself; the most reading she’s been able to do lately has been her textbooks. 

“You’re a fan of _The Tale of the Seven Lords_ too?” Levi asks, materializing somewhere behind her. 

“Never heard of it,” she admits, easing one out of its place only to have Levi tap her hand away and push it gently back in. He grabs her hands and inspects her fingers, looking for anything that could have harmed his books. _I don’t have cooties_ , Eleanor thinks. 

“I’ll do you a favor and cure you of your ignorance,” he says, eyes glittering. He launches into an incredibly detailed description of the entire series—it’s over one hundred books long; Eleanor is impressed with the dedication, despite herself—and indicates his goldfish, which he’s named after one of the characters. 

“Right,” she says with an emphatic nod to something he’s said. “Screw the normies.” Even though he’s already included in Eleanor in the same category. _Everyone deserves to have their thing_ , she thinks. _And I need all the friends I can get._

“Right!” he says, pounding a fist into the palm of his hand. But then his expression drops, and he looks at Eleanor again, warily. “But I didn’t bring you here to tell you about TSL. Listen: Mammon is a complete and total scumbag. And just in case you don’t understand it yet, let me say it again,” Levi clears his throat and straightens himself up to his full height. 

“Mammon is a hopeless, worthless, _scumbag_ . I lent him money and now I want him to pay me back. Except he’s a _scumbag_ and won’t do it, and I can’t even force him to because he’s the second oldest.” Levi pouts and it’s… kind of cute, in a weird way. Eleanor wonders how much younger he is than his brothers; he certainly _seems_ like a little brother, but she can’t make out their ages. “I don’t stand a chance against him.”

And he’s off again, telling the story of the reason behind the animosity between them. It had something to do with an action figure that Levi wanted but Mammon got his hands on, and Levi’s quest to get her back. Eleanor didn’t tune him out, but he spoke so quickly and with so much animation that she found it difficult to follow.

“... And the worst part is that he was _stark naked_.”

 _This_ makes her snap to attention, and she wishes fervently to wake up. But in case it _isn’t_ a dream and she _is_ stuck in wherever-the-hell this is for an _entire year_ , she does _not_ want to spend it with a burgeoning nudist. 

“I’m not going to have to share a—” But Levi is already talking over her, ignorant to the private angst Eleanor is working through. 

“But if, say, a _human_ made a _pact_ ,” he nudges the human with his elbow and winks as if they were old friends, “with Mammon, and bound him to their service, then he’d _have_ to do whatever that human told him to. So if you make a pact with Mammon and then ordered him to give me back my money, he wouldn’t have any choice but to do it.”

“... What about Seraphina?” She asks, taken aback by the sudden subject whiplash. “And… what’s a pact?”

Levi squints at Eleanor like she’s just asked what the sky was. 

“Haven’t you seen it in movies before? It’s a promise. The demon lends his strength to a human to make their wish come true. In exchange for their soul.”

Eleanor’s mouth shuts with an audible _click_ from her teeth. It was time for her to accept the fact that this was in no way the dream she hoped it was because things just got way, _way_ too real. She shakes her head. 

“My _soul_? I think I’m kind of attached to that,” Eleanor protests. Levi waves away her concern in the same way he would an annoying pest. 

“That isn’t always necessary; it depends on what’s in the agreement. You do have to give _something_ to make it worth the exchange, but I’ll tell you how to negotiate with Mammon.” He pauses, as if expecting her to leap at the opportunity. _Maybe others have_ , she thinks, still reeling from his casual explanation. “I’m sure that it would be useful having him as your servant. As awful as he is, he’s still a powerful demon.”

Eleanor files the information away for future use, considering Levi and his words. It is dangerous in the Devildom; nobody has made any effort to hide that from her. In fact, Eleanor considers the sum total of what she’s been told, it was practically every other word out of everyone’s mouth. Mammon had been designated as her protector, but he didn’t seem so keen to actually follow through. _Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea…_

“How do I go about doing this?” Eleanor asks slowly. Levi smiles and claps his hands together once, as if she’s already agreed to his scheme. 

“Excellent! Listen up. Mammon isn’t going to agree if you just walk up and ask him _—_ not even he’s that stupid. No, you need leverage. A bargaining chip. Something he wants so badly that he’d do _anything_ to get it.” Levi leans in closer and cups his hand around his mouth, as if sharing a secret. 

“His _credit card._ ”


	3. Close to the Heart

Eleanor does not have a problem falling asleep in unfamiliar environments. She’s had over a decade to practice the skill, hopping from house to house and from placement to placement, sometimes at the drop of a hat with no time to prepare. And so, staring at her ceiling, she resolutely _refuses_ to believe that she can’t fall asleep, not when she’s so tired and there’s nothing better to do. 

She feels like she’s filled with electricity, which she also refuses to recognize as nerves. Even after a careful (and distracting) inspection of the room, she couldn’t settle herself down. Pacing didn’t help. Neither did a soak in the tub, or counting all of the corners in the room, or any of the tricks she’d taught the other kids in the homes over the years. Eleanor pulls the covers up to her chin and growls in irritation, watching another minute slide by on her D.D.D. She considers messaging Levi to ask him to reconsider his book-borrowing ban, but she doubts he’ll relent. 

The only thing left to do was to find something to eat; not a problem, considering Levi, when he deigned to show her where her room was, pointed out the kitchen right across the hall. 

“Not even _you_ could get lost,” he’d said at the time, and it still irritated Eleanor to think about it. Just a little. She frowns, looking at her phone. Okay, maybe a lot. 

She snorts, throws off her covers, and pads out of her room and into the kitchen. It’s still dark; the little fairy lights don’t activate for her. She _assumes_ that’s because she’s not a demon, and he D.D.D. doesn’t have a flashlight feature that she can find. Soft, flickering light emanates from the kitchen doorway, and Eleanor is not at all surprised to find out that a main feature of the kitchen is the cauldron gently bubbling over a low fire. Perhaps it should have been surprising, or seemed anachronistic next to the modern appliances she was accustomed to. 

_Why do they have two pantries_? She wonders, also eyeing the fridge and full chest freezer while she rifles for something to eat. There were some… questionable options, which she breezed by, hoping that baked bat wings were just a cute name for something that was not at all bat wings. Like ladyfingers, maybe. 

Two minutes and a quick cleanup later, Eleanor sits down at the little table with a mug full of macaroni and cheese. The microwave concoction of pasta and semi-congealed cheese got her through most of her early childhood and her first late-night finals cram session and held a special place in her heart. She pulls her legs up on the bench and blows on the tendrils of steam rising from the rim of the mug. 

“Thanks for the lollipop.”

Eleanor only jumps a little bit and adds it to her imaginary “I can do this” scorecard. She looks up to see the red headed man from before standing in the doorway, looking as tired and she feels and marginally less grumpy. 

“No problem,” she says with a pause. “Beelzebub?” He nods and Eleanor smiles in relief; connecting names and faces has historically been something of a weakness. Having so many new faces introduced at the same time didn’t help. _Neither did the whole Devildom thing_ , she thinks. _Or thinking everything was a dream._

“You gonna eat that?” He asks, and Eleanor looks down at her food.

“You can have a bite if you’d—”

He plucks the mug from her hands and in the blink of an eye, its contents are gone. Quickly followed by the mug itself. 

“Oh.” Eleanor blinks. _Avatar of Gluttony indeed_. “Just a minute,” she says with a sigh, standing and turning back to the microwave. He remains silent while Eleanor prepares more, sitting down eventually with a new mug for herself and a bowl for the demon of gluttony. 

“Can’t sleep?” She asks, keeping a firmer old on her mug this time. 

“Woke up hungry,” he says, poking at the blob of pasta Eleanor handed him. She winces at it; normally larger quantities did not go over well in the microwave, and even she has to admit that it doesn’t look all that appetizing. “You too?”

“I couldn’t sleep and I thought comfort food would do the trick.” Eleanor stabs her pasta a little more aggressively than is strictly needed, watching the pasta in his bowl disappear at a rate she didn’t quite believe was possible. Hers is still hot to the touch. _Demons_ , she reminds herself.

“Food always does the trick,” Beelzebub says, scraping his spoon against the bottom of the now-empty bowl. Eleanor blinks. _How does he_ do _that?_

“Goodnight,” he says, standing and looking at Eleanor like he wanted to say something else. She waits patiently for him to say something else (an assurance that he wasn’t going to eat her like he said he might have been nice) but he doesn’t. 

“Goodnight,” Eleanor wishes back, not sure that he could even hear her. 

* * *

Her neck still hurts when she makes it to the academic building, staring hopelessly at a map that Beelzebub pressed into her hands before he left for his own class. Waking up leaning against the kitchen table had not been her plan (which was actually to take up in her own bed in the human world) but it least ensured that she wasn’t going to be late Neither Mammon nor Levi could be found that morning, which based on Asmodeus’s complaining, was something of a regular thing. 

She squints at the map and rotates it once, unsure if she’s even looking at it the right way up; it’s not in a language that she understands at all, and the whispering demons behind her aren’t helping her concentration. Eleanor grits her teeth and is _almost_ able to ignore them.

“You think Mammon’s really babysitting her?” One of them whispers loud enough to ensure that everyone nearby can hear. It’s just like high school all over again, but this time, when one of them threatens to eat Eleanor, she knows it’s an actual possibility. She bares her teeth and spins on her heel to face them, a retort already on her lips that was sure to get her into trouble.

Except she’s interrupted. 

“Your name is Eleanor, right? Might want to wipe that look off your face; it makes you practically irresistible to all of the demons here. And you dropped this,” he says, offering her D.D.D. to her. Except she firmly remembered it being in her skirt pocket because the weight of it bumped against her leg when she climbed the entrance stairs.

“There’s no need to be suspicious of me,” he says with a light smile; Eleanor disagrees with his statement, but accepts the device anyway. 

“That’s my name,” she says, taking note of how the gossiping demons make themselves scarce in his presence. _Interesting_ , she thinks, looking at him in a new light. He doesn’t look exactly like the other demons, but his white hair and silver-tinged eyes don’t exactly scream _human_ either.

“I’m Solomon; I’m an exchange student from the human world, just like you. Nice to meet you.” Solomon holds out his hand and Eleanor glances between it and his face, trying to determine the likely outcome of befriending him. _No way he’s human_ ; there’s something about him that puts her on edge, and it’s not just because of his pickpocketing skills.

“How do you know my name?” She hedges, not returning his niceties. He laughs.

“You’re something of a celebrity here at RAD right now. Being an exchange student from the human world makes you special enough, but you’re a human without magic _and_ you have an infamous demon like Mammon looking after you as well.” He drops his hand, as if just realizing that Eleanor isn’t shaking it.

“Looking after me is an interesting way of phrasing it.” Eleanor says with a roll of her eyes. She hasn’t seen him since he abandoned her with Levi the previous night, and she has no idea where he is now. _Some protector_. 

“Hmm,” Solomon tilts his head, looking at something behind her left shoulder. “Well, first bell awaits; I had better get going. See you around, Eleanor.”

He disappears into the crowd of demons scurrying to their next class, and she’s alone. Again. She tries (and fails) to make sense of the map one more time before giving up and setting off in a random direction. Demon Law is somewhere on the third floor, at least that’s what she _thinks_ the little squiggles beside the class name mean. But the exact location was still a mystery, and so she takes the first staircase she sees two at a time. None of the demons around her look likely to help, and she’s just a touch too proud to ask for it. 

She takes a random right, and then finds another hallway that looks promising; she’s barely taken two steps into it when she feels something snag the back of her jacket. Eleanor is livid, turning suddenly with her fist cocked back and ready to strike. _I am not an easy target_.

“ _Eleanor_ ,” Lucifer says cooly, and Eleanor drops her fist, knowing that he’s seen it. “Good morning,” he finishes.

“Good morning… Sir,” she adds, remembering how gung-ho she was to at least _attempt_ to deck him just seconds ago. _Not a great start to your first day at demon college, asshole_ , she kicks herself. 

“I see that you’ve survived the evening. Good for you. Still,” he adds warmly, “there’s no guarantee that you’ll make it to tomorrow.”

Eleanor keeps her lips set in a straight line.

“Was that Solomon that I saw you talking with? You and he are the only two humans here, you know. Associate with him if you must, but I suggest that you do not trust him.”

 _No shit, Sherlock,_ she wants to shout, which would probably earn a punishment that would make Dante blush.

“Even for a human, he is quite powerful; he has made pacts with several demons before, and will try to subjugate even a powerful greater demon if he has the chance.”

 _This_ piques Eleanor’s curiosity, and she remembers Levi’s plan from the previous night. It was a ridiculous, utterly _stupid_ plan with risks that seemed to far outweigh the rewards. Still… She chews on the inside of her lower lip. _Maybe not so stupid_. _Levi gets his money back, and I have an… ally_. Friend didn’t seem like quite the right word

“A pact? Like, an agreement? If those exist, then should I have a pact with Mammon? Since, you know, he’s supposed to be taking care of me.” It’s easy to act dumb. The demons already expect her to be unintelligent; all she has to do is play to the assumptions. It’s a role that she’s familiar with, even though she hates it.

And Lucifer _laughs_ , which horrifies both her and the handful of minor demons milling about.

“Oh, how entertaining. No. He is my brother, so I will attempt to be sparing in my criticism, but you must listen, Eleanor; he is pure, unfiltered, disgusting scum, to the point that I am almost ashamed to call him a fellow demon, let alone my brother.”

 _Then why did you assign him to be my protector?_ She wants to ask.

“And I’m afraid trying to get into his good graces just won’t be possible. His heart is quite _frozen_ , you know.” Lucifer offers a smile as he places his hand on his chest before he bids her goodbye and points her in the direction of the class she needs. Her mind whirs and she almost panics again; Lucifer knows what she’s planning. He has to. Not that it’s a particularly _brilliant_ plan, but… She watches him walk away, considering her position. Did he… give her permission?

**«Did you tell Lucifer about the pact plan?»**

His response is almost immediate.

 **Levi:** LOL no.

She scrunches her face up in irritation and hides the D.D.D. behind a stack of her books.  
 **«Well, I’m pretty sure he knows, and he made sure to mention that Mammon’s heart is frozen.»** She waits for the little symbol to appear indicating that he’s read the message and then slips the device into her pocket again. When she checks it again an hour later, there’s one message waiting from Levi.

 **Levi:** Are you absolutely sure that’s what he said?

 _Absolutely sure,_ she replies.

 **Levi:** Get to the kitchen. Right now.

There _is_ a break in Eleanor’s schedule, but she doesn’t like being summoned places like a dog. Still, Levi’s demand is doable, and she does want at least one of the brothers to not see her as a nuisance. She makes her way back to the House of Lamentation, still weighing her options as she unlocks the gate and finds her way back to the kitchen. It’s already occupied—and not by Leviathan.

“Perfect timing,” Beelzebub says, looking distraught. “Look, do you have any food on you? There’s nothing else in the fridge.” Eleanor quirks an eyebrow and peeks behind him, only to find that he is, indeed, correct. _How did he eat an entire fridge worth of food…?_ She quickly decides it’s best not to think about it.

“I swiped a muffin earlier,” she says, reaching into her bag. It _was_ going to be her breakfast, but the class on what constitutes a legal flaying stole away her appetite. Beelzebub munches on it happily.

“You look like you want to ask something,” he says. 

“I do.” The subject feels almost taboo, but there’s a huge hole in the house that everyone seems determined to ignore. “The youngest brother _—_ ”

Beelzebub swallows the last of the muffin hard and scowls, and Eleanor has to steel herself so that she doesn’t cower under the expression.

“Listen, you seem nice enough, but I’m only going to say this once. Don’t you ever mention him in front of Lucifer. Don’t go asking any of my brothers. I’m not going to tell you, either; Lucifer would yell at me if I did. _No one_ talks about him, even though he’s our brother. We have to act like he doesn’t exist.”

His lips tug down into a frown, which Eleanor mirrors without meaning to. If he were human, she would know how to comfort him. But he’s not, and she doesn’t understand the situation, and the hand that she reaches out to him with stops in the air halfway to his shoulder. She drops it back to her side. 

“Sorry,” she says instead. “I didn’t know.”

“‘Course you didn’t. It’s none of your business, human.” Beelzebub frowns again, mumbles something about hiding poisoned apples, and leaves after throwing another sour look Eleanor’s way. 

Eleanor wonders, not for the first time, if she’ll even make a week, let alone the entire year. Perhaps she should find Diavolo and petition for a transfer to a different house, or to just be sent back to her own world. _I’m_ clearly _not cut out for this_. And to top it all off, the pantry whispers to her. _Pssst_ , it says

“Hello? Spirit from the beyond?” She calls out, hoping it’s a ghost or a ghoul, anything to take her mind off of demonic exchange programs and whatever it was that just happened with Beelzebub.

“As _if_. It’s me, you normie.”

Eleanor ignores the insult but sighs at Levi’s antics. Surely Beelzebub’s arrival was what startled Levi into his hiding place. _Can’t have anyone thinking you’re having a secret rendezvous with a human, can you?_

“If Lucifer said _frozen_ , then this is the only place it could be hidden,” Leviathan says, gesturing to the freezer. He mumbles something about ice cream and Lucifer, and Eleanor dodges the occasional ice shard that escapes as he searches for something. 

“This!” He cries out triumphantly. “Is what we were looking for.” He holds a chunk of ice out to Eleanor, shoving it into her hands. She shields her fingertips from the ice using her jacket sleeves.

“We need to melt it.” Levi says as Eleanor inspects the ice. Inside of it is a… Credit card? _That can’t be right_ , she thinks, squinting at it. Surely it should be some sort of magical amulet, or artifact of power. But she thinks back to his introduction and her mouth settles into a grim line. _No, credit card seems about right_. She steps over to where the cauldron is still bubbling away and holds the card above the flames, careful not to scorch her fingertips. Droplets of cool water fall into the fire, hissing when they hit the heated stone and turning into steam. When it’s mostly free, she holds it up to Levi, who laughs and claps his hands once.

“Now Mammon will _have to—_ ”

And, speak of the devil; Mammon appears behind Leviathan. Eleanor blinks, taken aback. Surely, _surely_ these demons are breaking some law of physics.  
“Goldie!” He all but squeals, lunging for the card. Eleanor hops back behind Leviathan, holding the card between her index and middle fingers. Mammon fixates on the card, looking away from it only to shoot frustrated glares towards his brother and the human in their midst. Eleanor doesn’t like the look in his eyes; she’s seen it before. His twitchy fingers let her know that he’s about to strike. 

Eleanor makes eye contact with him, pops the top button on her shirt, and slides the card into place against her skin. _Just try it_ , she dares him with a glare. _I’ll castrate you myself_.

“Nuh-uh!” Leviathan says, unaware of Eleanor’s disappearing trick. “I’m the one that found the card after Lucifer took it from you, and _I’m_ the one that’ll be telling Eleanor when it’s okay for you to have it again.”

Mammon growls at his brother and Eleanor shrugs at the statement, wishing that he hadn’t phrased it _quite_ that way.

“Now,” Levi continues, smug and content that he’s won. “Do you want the card back or not?”

“You’d _better_ give the card back,” Mammon growls, his eyes darting frantically between Levi and where he knew the card was hidden. Levi scowls at Mammon, who straightens and plasters a fake smile on his face.

“I mean, yes, please, Leviathan sir, please give it back…”

“I can’t believe that’s all it took to completely _wipe_ your pride! One of the seven rulers of hell, and you just…” Levi doubles over in laughter. “You can have your card back on two conditions,” Leviathan says, still laughing and holding two fingers up. “I want you to give me back my money, and I want the Seraphina figurine.”

Mammon sputters in indignation, claiming that he has no idea what figurine Levi was talking about--and for all of the times his brothers have called him scummy, Eleanor believes that part of the story. He probably didn’t care enough about the figurine to know which character it was in the first place. 

“And I want you to make a pact,” Eleanor says quickly, quietly, before she loses her nerve. It comes out sounding like it’s all one word, and she blushes self-consciously. “With me.”

“Yeah, sure whatever, I—wait, _hell no_ , why do you want me to make a _pact_?” His fury is no longer focused solely on Leviathan; Eleanor has earned plenty of that for herself. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable. 

“Because if you make a pact with her, then you have to give me back my stuff,” Levi says patiently, as if speaking to a toddler. “You heard her.” He steps to the side and gestures to the human.

“What’re you thinking, human, lettin’ Levi use you like this? You stupid, or somethin’?”

“Aren’t you all using me?” She asks quietly, simmering anger back in place. “For Diavolo’s plan? Turnabout, Mammon.”

There’s an uneasy silence between the three. Eleanor keeps her gaze locked steadily on Mammon and _briefly_ considers throwing Levi under the bus for the plan, but decides against it. _You’re supposed to be the one protecting me_ , she wants to accuse him. 

“I’m not fuckin’ makin’ a pact with a _human_ ; I’m the Great Mammon, one of the seven rulers of the Devildom. You think I’m gonna let some human be the boss of me?”

She shrugs. “No skin off my nose.” His words from last night feel bitter on her tongue.

“Oh _Lucifer_ ,” Leviathan bellows, startling both Eleanor and Mammon, who finally seems properly cowed. “Mammon is here _unfreezing his credit card_!”

Mammon’s face contorts into one of fury, and then fear, and then the biggest, fakest smile Eleanor has ever seen.

“I mean, of _course_ I’ll make a pact with you, human! I’d be thrilled to!” But he says it through clenched teeth, making sure that the other two know just how much he hates the situation. Eleanor mercilessly smothers the moment of pity that _almost_ makes her hand over the card and call the whole business off. He’s still smiling (but his eyes say _watch your back_ ) when he reaches up to his head and plucks a few silvery strands out, twisting them around until they form a fine cord. Eleanor watches, enraptured, as they glow and then solidify into a metal ring. _Magic_ , she thinks, giddy at the simple trick. 

“What’re you staring for? Gimme your damn hand.”

Eleanor nods, eyes still wide, and holds out her left hand. Mammon takes it, squeezing just hard enough to make her wince, and slides the ring onto her middle finger. The ring glimmers in the firelight and Eleanor holds it up to her face, looking for any additional traces of magic. There are none.

“There. Pact sealed. Gimme my card.”

“... Right,” Eleanor says, snapped out of her inspection. She reaches into her shirt and pulls his card from its hiding place. Levi seems interested _—_ and ridiculously embarrassed, Eleanor notices with amusement _—_ at the transaction. Mammon has eyes only for Goldie and watches the card between her fingertips like a hawk.

“It’s warm,” he complains, and Eleanor shrugs at him. Before she can remind him that _body heat is a thing, dummy_ , he sprints from the room as if she’d just bent down on one knee and proclaimed her undying love for him.

“That was…” she pauses, looking down at the ring on her finger and giving it an experimental twist. “Interesting. I’ll make sure that you get your stuff.” 

There had been some, perhaps-not-so-small, part of her that had been hoping for some sort of thanks, or an overture of friendship from Levi. That part is sorely disappointed when he nodded once and left without saying another word. 


	4. The Pact Goes Swimmingly

There is absolutely, utterly, _nothing_ magical about the ring, Eleanor decides while sitting in her next class. No matter how much she stares at it, willing for something to happen, it remains a stubborn circle of metal on her finger. She doesn’t feel any different, either. _Am I supposed to feel different?_ She wonders if she got swindled. But surely, Levi would have done something, if that was the case. Right?

 _Maybe not_ , she decides, closing her eyes and letting the words of the lecture wash over her. Summoning 101 was useless to her, as a human without magic. No matter how much she practiced, she knew she’d never be able to work the circles the same way a demon could. Or Solomon. Eleanor looks at the ring again, frowning. She doesn’t remember Solomon wearing any rings, but he’d also indicated he had magical abilities of some sort. 

Eleanor pinches the bridge of her nose in irritation. Perhaps the ring is necessary for regular humans, perhaps she got swindled, perhaps the whole thing was a practical joke on the human. _Perhaps I should have just kept my stupid head down_ , she thinks, twisting the ring savagely on her finger. Her notes for the class culminate in a grand total of two and a half sentences.

Asmodeus collects her from that class to drag her to her next one, as forcefully cheerful as she’s come to expect from her brief encounters with him. 

“I heard you have a new piece of jewelry,” he says with a devious smile, reaching for both of her hands. Eleanor stiffens and panic courses through her as he pulls her left hand up to his gaze for inspection. “You _have_ been busy,” he says with elation and a severe smile.

“I…” But Eleanor doesn’t know what to say, unsure how to take his reaction. _He’s not mad?_

“You could do better. Not as good as _me_ , of course,” he sniffs. “But _better_ . Oh, you could do so many _delicious_ things with this you know.”

Eleanor’s brain stalls out and she would have stumbled were Asmodeus not still holding onto both of her hands. _Surely he doesn’t mean—_

“I’ve always wanted to try something like that, but Solomon—”

“ _No_ ,” Eleanor objects before she could learn anything more about his sex life. “I don’t—I mean, _no_ , that’s not what this is about _at all_. This was… protection,” she finishes, fervently hoping the tips of her ears aren’t pink. Asmodeus looks rather put out and drops her hands. 

“Boring.” He levels his opinion on her like holy judgement.

* * *

Eleanor wishes for a swift and painless death, but knows that if it is Lucifer handing it down, it is unlikely to be either of those things. A thousand painful ends flash before her eyes.

“Lucifer wants to see _me_ ?” She asks, hating how small her voice is in her own ears. She would have preferred being ignored; his attention doesn’t seem like it could possibly bring anything good. Eleanor hadn’t thought he’d held any particular affection for the second-born demon, but she doubts he’s overly pleased she managed to swindle him into a pact. _Shit, shit, shit_ , she thinks.

“If you’d check your D.D.D. at all, you’d see that,” Asmodeus says with a wide smile, guiding her by the shoulders into a private lounge room. The door is marked _Student Council Only_ in curling golden script. “In you go,” he says, shoving her lightly on the back. She stumbles into the room, and panic takes over; she finds she is quite unable to move any closer. _I am so, so dead_.

“This is the student council room,” Lucifer says, sweeping his arm to indicate the whole room. “Perhaps, during your free time, it would be best if you came here instead of wandering the halls.”

Eleanor holds her textbooks in front of her as if they could offer any protection whatsoever, unsure if she should be looking at Lucifer or Diavolo. Neither one _looks_ particularly irate…

“You are the source of quite a few rumors,” one of the unfamiliar men remarks. He’s standing to Diavolo’s left, just slightly behind him. Diavolo smiles, all good will and charm that Eleanor doesn’t believe for a second.

“Come now Barbatos; don’t say that. I’d say this is a good thing. After all, now that everyone’s watching her, it will make it _much_ more difficult for someone to try and steal Eleanor’s soul when no one is looking.”

Eleanor goes pale.

“Yes. Since it seems that Mammon is not living up to his role as a guardian.” Lucifer looks bored by the whole situation, and again, wants to know why Mammon was selected to begin with. 

“I have to say, I can’t believe you managed to forge a pact with Mammon so quickly, Eleanor. That is no small feat.”

“So…” Eleanor pauses and relaxes the slightest bit. “I’m not in trouble?”

Diavolo laughs.

“No, Eleanor. My lord is sincerely congratulating you.” Barbatos nods once to her, but otherwise doesn’t move at all. 

“My steward,” Diavolo says, lazily swirling his hand in the air in Barbatos’s general direction. 

“Barbatos is a smart and talented individual, so much so that I wish I could trade a certain hard-headed brother of mine for him instead.” He states it plainly, his voice monotone. 

“I’ve heard it said that the most thick-headed child is always the cutest.” Diavolo flashes Lucifer a winning smile, and Eleanor can’t help it; she nervously mirrors his smile. Lucifer looks disgusted at Diavolo’s words and presses his hand against his chest as if mortally wounded.

“It’s troublesome enough having him as my younger brother, but my child? Him? I don’t even want to think of it.” As if to punctuate his words, his face goes just slightly green, as if he might actually get sick. 

“You didn’t deny the part about him being cute, I notice. But between all of you brothers, I believe you are the most troublesome,” said one of the men who up until this point had remained silent. He isn’t wearing the RAD uniform, and Eleanor wonders who, exactly, he is. The human exchange students are accounted for—though the jury is still out on Solomon’s humanity—and so that leaves…

“Is that meant to be a compliment, Simeon?” Lucifer drawls, lazily turning to the other student. _Simeon. Doesn’t sound like a demon name_ , Eleanor thinks, studying him and the shorter boy beside him. 

“That was an _insult_ ,” spits the younger man, crossing his arms and almost shaking in anger. “He’s taunting you.”

“I see your chihuahua needs a muzzle, Simeon,” Lucifer says, and even though Eleanor is an outsider, the bait is impossible to overlook. The smaller angel takes it, squabbling with Lucifer while the other angel smiles and Diavolo stands up, ignoring the commotion behind him. 

“This is Simeon,” he says, indicating the taller, quieter man in white. “And this chihuahua is Luke. He doesn’t bite.”

This sends Luke into another fit, which Diavolo ignores as he explains that they are the exchange students from the Celestial Realm; the confirmation makes Eleanor stand up straighter. _Angels? And they seem so… chummy with the demons_. Well, aside from Luke, Eleanor notes, who looks like he’s about to start frothing at the mouth. Simeon attempts to calm him down to little avail, while Lucifer looks upon the chaos he’s caused with a small smile. 

Lucifer’s phone chimes with a reminder, and he pulls it from his jacket and frowns. Diavolo seems to be on the same schedule because he also sits up straighter. 

“Well, now that introductions are done, I’m afraid we have to leave,” Lucifer says. “Remember this room, Eleanor, should you need a moment of quiet. And…” he pauses near the doorway as she turns to watch him, Diavolo, Barbatos, and Simeon leave. “Do look after Mammon, will you?”

He doesn’t give her any time to reply before he unlocks the door and follows Diavolo out, and she watches them all retreat with furrowed brows. _Look after Mammon—wasn’t he supposed to be the one looking after me? Why does this feel like a setup?_

“Don’t trust…” Eleanor swivels and looks down to see Luke staring down at his feet, mumbling something.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that? My head was elsewhere.” Angels. _I can’t believe I forgot that there were angels here_ , Eleanor curses herself _._

“Don’t talk down to me,” Luke says, blushing in anger. It doesn’t take much to wind him up. “And don’t trust demons. _Especially_ when that demon is Lucifer. They’re monsters. Brutes. And…” The angel chews on his lips, searching for the right words.

“Sadists?” Eleanor asks, thinking back to all the offhand threats she’s heard the demons utter as if it was a normal thing. Which it probably was. 

“ _Exactly_ ,” Luke says, nodding emphatically. “I was against this from the beginning you know; it’s one thing to have the Celestial Realm and the Devildom to intermingle, but adding humans to the mix—especially powerless humans, like you—is just…”

“Not fair,” she finishes for him, sliding down into one of the vacated seats. Luke looks at her sadly and remains standing. “I know. And I don’t… I don’t think I trust them,” she admits, looking down at the ring on her finger. She _wants_ to trust them, just like she _wants_ to be able to trust most people. 

“Good,” Luke says, shooting her and her ring a sideways glance. He looks like he wants to say something else but stops himself. Eleanor almost asks him if he wants to be friends; she is pretty sure he’d agree, but that would feel like cheating. And as much as she wants an angel on her side, she doubts he would actually enjoy being her friend.. 

He scurries off, calling Simeon’s name as she sighs.


	5. The Pact Does Not Go Swimmingly

Asmodeus is all peals of laughter at dinner, and Eleanor casts him a tired glare, sure that at least some of that is at her expense. Satan and Levi look just as amused, but they have the good sense to keep it to themselves. Beelzebub is interested only in his meal, which looks suspiciously like a burger with eyeballs to Eleanor. 

“I have to say that I’m surprised, Eleanor. I never thought an average human like you would be able to make a pact with Mammon—and certainly not _this_ fast.” He slides Eleanor’s plate closer to himself, luring her in. “I suppose Diavolo and Lucifer really did know what they were doing when they selected you to fill the last spot.”

Eleanor shrugs and tugs her plate back to herself. “Piece of cake,” she replies glumly, pushing her food around on her plate. She knows she’s human; she doesn’t really need the constant reminder that her new housemates think of her as lesser than them because of it. It’s grating and embarrassing and she feels talked down to, like a child. Manage to grasp a magical concept? _What an achievement, human!_ Scare off a minor demon by herself? _Not bad for a pathetic human_. Seal a pact with one of the seven rulers of the Devildom within twenty-four hours of arriving? _You picked an easy target, human_. Privately, she feels like all of those things are huge achievements. 

“Either you’re a much more formidable opponent than you seem, or Mammon is just _that_ stupid. I’m not sure which it is,” Satan says with a grim smile, letting the outsider in their presence know that he believes Mammon is just that stupid.

“All I know is that I finally got Mammon to give me back my money, and…” Levi is off on a rapid-fire explanation of what he plans to do with the cash, losing his audience in the process. He pauses in his exuberant fantasy only when Asmodeus dares to insinuate that he might be friends with _the human_. Predictably, Levi denies the whole thing, hurtling the same old insults Eleanor’s way. While everyone’s attention is otherwise engaged, Eleanor stands and tries to sneak away.. 

“You know, the way things are going, the rest of us might just find ourselves in a pact with Eleanor if we’re not careful,” Asmodeus says, catching her just as she edges closer to the doorway. “Say, if you had your choice, which one of us would you forge a pact with next, Eleanor?”

Caught in her escape attempt, Eleanor turns and taps her lips with her finger, pretending to be deep in thought.

“That’s really difficult to say.” She offers Asmodeus a sickly sweet smile. “But what makes you think that I’d want another pact? One demon is trouble enough.” Beel keeps on eating, but Satan releases an undignified snort that actually gives her pause. Her words were meant to be a barb, and the fact that Satan found it amusing doesn’t quite sit well with her. 

“A one-demon kind of woman, I see,” Asmodeus says with a nod and a wink. “We’ll see. At any rate, just know that you won’t be able to tame us as easily as you did Mammon; in fact, it would just be offensive of you to think we’re as stupid as that poor excuse of a demon.”

She watches impassively as Mammon approaches from behind Asmodeus and barely reacts when he smacks his younger brother on the back of his head. Instead, she stands back and watches another fight break out between the brothers. If it wasn’t for the fact that they were making fun of Mammon for making a pact with a human, it would have been utter, strangely _human_. 

And just like in all of the sibling squabbles Eleanor has witnessed, the eldest comes alone to settle things. Eleanor doesn’t warn Mammon of his presence either, letting him dig his own grave. And dig it he does, paying no attention to the fact that the subject of his jokes is right behind him. When Lucifer retaliates, Mammon does not fight back. 

The praise that falls from Lucifer’s lips is not meant for Eleanor; she finds it deeply annoying that she’s become something of a toy in their game of being as rude to each other as possible. The fact that she’s there is purely incidental.

“I aim to please,” she replies drily, deciding at the last moment not to add a curtsy; deliberately antagonizing Lucifer seems like it would be deleterious to her health. He is as unreadable a book as ever to her, and she doesn’t have time to scrutinize the careful non-expression that graces his face.

“Time to go, human. We’ve wasted enough time here,” Mammon says, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her away. She fruitlessly digs her heels into the ground and succeeds in doing nothing but scuffing them. 

“You have a personal space problem!” She snaps at him as he drags her out of the hall and up a flight of stairs. He’s angry. Irritated. She can tell that much, but she half believes he’s forgotten he has her in tow when he starts muttering complaints about Lucifer and Diavolo. He pauses at the landing of a staircase when he realizes there’s a second set of footsteps echoing his, and his anger finds a new target. 

“And don’t think I’m happy about this pact shit; it wasn’t for you. If you end up getting eaten by some demon here at RAD, don’t blame me. I don’t give a damn. Don’t go thinkin’ you’re all great ‘cause you managed to swindle me into some stupid pact.” He doesn’t look her in the eyes, even though his grip is still firm on her arm. Eleanor tries tugging away and fails.

“If you’re going to insult me every few minutes, can you at least use my name, please?” _If I start responding to “hey, human” I’m going to be_ really _pissed off_ , she thinks.

“Well, since you’ve seemed to learn some manners an’ all…” He scratches his chin as if actually contemplating her request. And when his expression twists into a malicious smile, she can feel the bottom of her stomach drop out. “Just kiddin’. Did you really think that was gonna work on me? I’m not gonna waste my time learning some lowly human’s name, ‘specially when that human doesn’t _know her place_.”

The dam holding back her emotions breaks. She looks anywhere but at him, focusing on the light that falls onto the staircase behind him, nervous that a thousand angry words are going to spill out of her mouth and get her into trouble. The staircase— _leaving him behind_ , she thinks—looks more and more inviting by the moment. _Maybe I can find a tall tower to throw myself off of_ , she thinks with a snort. 

“Do I frighten you? Listen, if you stop talkin’ back and just do what I tell ya, then things won’t be so bad—” He reaches out and touches her jaw, intending to draw her infuriating gaze back to himself. _Nobody_ ignores the Great Mammon.

“Don’t tell me I need to know my place, and _don’t touch me_ ,” she hisses, surprising him. Eleanor’s free hand lashes out and smacks him away from her face. Mammon stiffens as if jolted by electricity and releases her arm. Eleanor stares at him, eyes narrowed in anger, hand raised to strike if he touches her again. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to see you today.”

The order falls from her lips and she breaks eye contact with him, her back stiff and her pace regal as she breezes by him. Her hand rests on the spiraling wooden banister and she places a foot on the first step, feeling like she is walking off of a ledge. It’s the only spiral staircase she’s seen in the house, and it strikes her as being slightly out of place. 

“Nobody’s supposed to go up there,” Mammon says, fingers twitching with the urge to grab her and shake her. 

“ _Stay,_ ” she hisses at him, throwing one more glance up the stairs. There’s no real reason to go up there, other than she likes pressing boundaries. Eleanor closes her eyes with a sigh and steps away from the stairs. _I’ve done enough for today_ , she thinks mournfully.

“The fuck?” Mammon breaks her moment of peace. “Why can’t I move? Is this some pact bullshit?” She turns to look at his panicked face and then immediately turns away, he lips set in a thin line.

“See you tomorrow, Mammon,” she tosses over her shoulder with a small wave.

“Human! Don’t just leave me here; fix this!”

But she has no intention of fixing anything or turning to see him again. Instead, she marches straight away from him, back stiff and brimming with irritation. Perhaps she should have felt bad about leaving him stuck, and perhaps she should have bothered to think twice about why, exactly, his feet were rooted to the floor. But she didn’t.

* * *

The library is quiet, tucked away at the back of the house where approaching feet can easily be heard. While she doesn’t feel _safe_ within the walls of the house, she feels considerably _safer_ than being outside. Most of the time. This is not one of those times. She trails her fingertips along the spines of the books as she walks by them, looking for anything she can read. Most of them are in the same language her map was, made up of twisting and curling characters she does not find familiar. 

One volume stands out, however, sitting at eye level. She plucks it from the shelf and drops herself down onto the high-backed chair in front of the fireplace, her feet slung over one of the arms of the chair. The book is dusty from disuse and emits a plume of dust when she opens it. Watering eyes make the words hard to read, but she traces them with a fingertip anyway, feeling the soft vellum of the pace.

It’s a piece she’s read before, both for fun and for classes, and it seems extremely poignant now, stuck in what may or may not be hell. Exhaustion pulls at her eyelids, but she turns the page, forcing herself to stay awake. 

_O Myriads of immortal Spirits, O Powers_

_Matchless, but with th’ Almighty, and that strife_

_Was not inglorious, though th’ event was dire,_

_As this place testifies, and this dire change_

_Hateful to utter: but what power of mind—_

The book is tugged from her hands, familiar words blurring on the page as it escapes her grasp. Irritated, Eleanor cranes her neck back and looks into green eyes. _How many times can I say “speak of the devil” before it starts making the karma gods angry?_ She wonders with a sigh. 

“Isn’t Milton a little too on the nose?” He asks, flipping through the book. She reaches out for it, but he keeps it just out of her reach. She blows out her cheeks in frustration. “This is an early edition, you know.” Satan shuts the book, and Eleanor’s place in it is lost. She sits up straight and crosses her arms over her chest. 

“Care to explain why Mammon has been screaming in a hallway for the past two hours?” He quirks a brow at and Eleanor stifles laughter poorly.

“Not particularly.” She pauses, looking at him. The light from the fire casts his face in sharp, shifting contract. He wants her to answer, if only to hear an amusing story, but she refuses. Satan looks at her, his face carefully neutral. She stares at him back, refusing to be the first one to blink.

“This isn’t particularly accurate,” Satan says, having blinked first. His focus is back on the poem, and he runs his finger across the ink with reverence. _No shit_ , she wants to say. _Turns out Lucifer and Satan aren’t the same being, for starters._ Instead of voicing her thoughts, she looks down to her hands. The meat of her palm is lightly scabbed and the reminder that this was, somehow, really and truly not a dream is not welcome. Her lips twist into a frown; she feels his eyes on her, waiting for her to say something.

“Goodnight,” she finally says, deciding she’s done with whatever games the demons are trying to play. She stands and casts him a look that speaks of exhaustion and exasperation before she leaves the library entirely. 

With nowhere else to go, she heads back to her room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paradise Lost belongs to Milton and also the public domain.


	6. A Warning

She is consumed by flames and arctic ice, scorching and freezing all at once as her heart hammers in her chest. Her muscles are tired, locked into position, straining against invisible bonds that will not be broken. The darkness of her room waits, a giant, hungry monster set loose by the nightmares spinning through her head. Quiet swallows the night and she can’t scream, can’t scream even though she wants to so _badly_.

Trying to open her mouth is futile; she knows this and tries anyway, is unsurprised when she fails. _You’re sleeping, Eleanor_ , she reminds herself, and the reminder does not serve as reassurance. The panic makes it hard to breathe and her breaths come in ragged, shallow gasps, as if something is sitting on her chest, constricting her throat. Her lungs are too empty and she feels like her throat might snap, brought to a breaking point.

 _Help_ , she thinks she dreams, but she doubts it is in her own voice. _Help me, please, help._

She tries to do anything—move her toes, open her eyes wider, twitch her fingertips—anything to break the spell that her own stress and fear casts on her. 

_Calm down_ , she orders herself but even in her thoughts she is shaky, terrified. Her heart pounds and she thinks it might burst and she’ll be _dead_ and—

 _Please please please do something_. She isn’t sure just whom she is begging for help, but she casts the plea out into the aether. Darkness and silence respond and she retreats inward, bound by the confines of her own skin. And then—

_Light —_

She can see it through her half-lidded eyes, and it spills into her room like a prayer.

“Human, just what do you—”

Her prayer turns into a howling curse and oh, how _cruel_ the universe is to dangle hope in front of her and then snatch it away. She can’t move, can’t tell him to _get out_ , can only sit there and imagine frostbite gnawing on her skin. Her lips twitch and it is progress, but too little and too late to be of any use. 

“Eleanor?” He asks, sounding confused. She wants the dark to swallow her up for real because this is mortifying; why this place, why him, and she’d cry if she could. She realizes with a groan that she _is_ crying, a sluggish tear oozing down the trail her cheekbone provides towards her ear. _Humiliating_ , she thinks, cursing everything she can think of, but most of all him, for seeing her so vulnerable. 

He reaches out and touches her on her forehead lightly, like he’s afraid she’s going to snap at him. She wants to. Badly. But the spell is broken and she curls in on herself like a marionette released from her strings, heart fluttering like a frightened rabbit’s. Feeling and movement seep their way back into her fingers and toes and she flexes a hand experimentally. _Not normal_ , the thinks, alarm bells ringing distantly in her mind. _Not normal at all, just what the hell—_

She remembers she has an audience.

“Leave,” she grinds out, and remembers at the last second that she should probably be _polite_ even though it grates on her nerves. “Please.”

“Nah, what the hell? Ya just summoned me here—”

“Sorry.” Is he going to make her beg him? She curls in tighter on herself and flexes her hand again, shaking warmth back into it. 

“The hell was that? You were all—” He cuts himself off to, she assumes, make an unflattering impression of her. She doesn’t turn to see; she closes her eyes instead and counts backwards from five slowly.

“I said I didn’t want to see you until tomorrow.” 

He doesn’t respond. Her D.D.D. lands on the pillow beside her head, bounces once, and bumps against her nose. She cracks an eye open to see the screen illuminated. It’s almost five in the morning, and she moves a shaking finger across the screen to dim the light.

“Check the damn time; it _is_ tomorrow.” 

He’s right. Damn it all, he’s right, and even though it’s about something stupid, she still hates it. And what makes it worse is that he’s not being the complete shitheel she thought he’d be and she doesn’t know how to handle it. Eleanor wants to scream. She wants to disappear into the air. She wants to go _home_ where things are shitty but at least they make sense. And to top it all off, she must have actually called out for help, somehow, and he came. The pact likely forced him to, but still. She’s touched, and she _hates it._

“Sleep paralysis. Night terrors—whatever,” she says it casually, trying to handwave it away. But she can’t say it to her wall, even though she wants to. Eleanor drags herself upwards to sit, pulling her covers with her. Any fleeting sense of security is welcome, no matter how flimsy. “Sometimes a human’s brain will get stuck between a nightmare and being awake. It’s bullshit.” She scowls and refuses to look at him, chooses instead to turn the D.D.D. over in her hands. “And for me sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe. It happens when I’m _stressed_.” 

Her hair is damp with sweat and she pulls a face as she runs her hand through it. 

“Thanks.” She finally mutters. “I didn’t mean to drag you down here. But, you know. Thanks.” Another minute slides by and she wishes he’d say something, or just go away, and _why the hell isn’t he_ leaving? She thinks.

“I guess I’ll talk to Diavolo and ask him to send me home today. You guys got the wrong human. I’ll give you your ring back and you can forget I was ever here so—”

“Hell no,” he interrupts her babbling. “You’re stayin’ right here. Can you imagine how big of a pain in my ass Lucifer’ll be if he thinks I didn’t babysit Diavolo’s pet human well enough? Nah. Too much trouble. An’ since I just found out that humans are so weak that even _sleepin_ ’ is dangerous, I guess I have to take this guard-the-human thing seriously.”

She narrows her eyes and flattens her lips into a straight line. _Is… he teasing me?_ Out of everyone, she thought he’d be the happiest she’d considering turning tail and running away _and_ offering to break the pact. _He should be celebrating_ , she thinks, _and dragging me off to Diavolo as soon as possible_. Instead, he leans down until she can feel his breath ghosting over her cheeks.

“Eleanor?”

“Yeah?” She asks, sounding strangled. The effects of the nightmare still haven’t left her

“Don’t tell Lucifer you were thinkin’ about goin’ back, okay?” He pats her on her head like an obedient dog and then saunters out of her room, leaving her gaping at her doorway. _He didn’t even wait for me to say anything!_ She fumes, angry that he assumed she was going to do what she was told. Angrier still that he is right. 

Her foul mood follows her through her morning ablutions because she can’t will herself back to sleep, not when her anger and the promise of another waiting nightmare lurk in the background. Little droplets trail after her as she pads into the kitchen, scrounging for something to call breakfast. Most of the shelves are suspiciously bare. _Beelzebub must have gotten hungry overnight_ , she thinks, and then freezes at the thought. _Is this normal now?_

She shakes her head as if the movement can clear away her thoughts, and damp hair clings to her cheeks. 

“You should have told me we were having a wet tee shirt contest,” Asmodeus leans in against her so that she can feel his breath against the shell of her ear and runs his hand down her spine. Eleanor shivers and arches her back. “I’d smoke you out, of course, but it would be nice to have some competition.”

“Ha, ha,” she says without any trace of mirth. “I’m afraid this is just me being lazy.”

“And making the kitchen a mess.” Lucifer looks as prim and proper as always; next to him Eleanor feels like a drowned rat next to him. She caught the dark circles under her eyes in the mirror, earlier. She knows she looks like death. 

“Hey,” she says suddenly, seizing upon her sudden thought. “Is it safe for me to be here? I mean like, with the air and water and stuff. Is that safe for humans.” She fervently hopes that a quirk of incompatible biology means that there’s a simple, easy explanation for her dreams and the paralysis and the constant spinning her head seems to be doing. 

“Any particular reason you ask?” He looks at her from over the rip of a steaming cup of tea, the steam obscuring his eyes momentarily. 

“No reason,” she lies, unable to shake the feeling that he can read her like an open book. An open book meant for early readers, to add insult to injury. But her pride is too great to let him—or anyone else who _hasn’t_ broken into her room lately—to know just how much the place is bothering her. 

“As long as you stay away from certain demonic cuisine elements, you run no risk of harm. From _that_ ,” he stresses, as if she needs the reminder that she shares a home with actual, literal demons. _Not helpful_ , she thinks, turning away from him with a hum. _Maybe this morning was a one-off_ , she tells herself hopefully, not really believing it. 

Loud noises--raised voices, stomping footsteps—herald the arrival of more brothers and is Eleanor’s cue to make a hasty retreat. She scrubs her face with her hands; her wounded pride is still too raw to deal with large groups of people _(demons_ , her mind provides), least of all Mammon. And if he’s going to run is big, stupid mouth, then she doesn’t want to be around for it. _Should have bound his mouth with the pact_ , she thinks with a grimace.

“ByeI’llseeyouinclasslater,” she spits out with a rapidity that would make an auctioneer proud, dashing towards the dining room and escape. Her jacket is still somewhere in her room, as are her books, but she only has one class in the morning. Eleanor makes an executive decision and comes to the conclusion that she can live without them. 

She is the first one in her classroom and is only a little bit out of breath when she sits at a seat in the back corner, hoping to blend into the wall. She keeps her head down, pretending that her desk is the most interesting thing in the entire world until everyone else files in, and keeps up the pretense until the class ends and she is _free_. It is with no small amount of trepidation that she slinks out of the classroom (making sure she’s the last) and tries to make herself look as casual as possible as she makes her way back to the House of Lamentation. She’s too focused on looking ahead of her, and does not notice the hand reaching out to grab her shoulder until it’s too late.

“Ahh, fucking _Christ_ ,” she hisses as she’s spun around, earning her a few interested glances from nearby demons. She finds herself staring at a rumpled shirt and a carelessly done tie, and fights the urge to bolt.

“What do you want?” She asks, immediately adopting a confrontational tone, crossing her arms and shaking off his hand. 

“You gotta mouth on ya, ya know that?” He glares down at her.

“It is how I eat and breathe and talk, yes,” she acknowledges, challenging him. And then she remembers what seemed like his genuine concern from the morning and runs a hand through her hair. Softens. Feels the weight of the ring on her finger and feels exhausted all over again.

“Look, I’m…” _Ugh, how do I even say this?_ “I’m sorry,” she bites out. “Maybe I shouldn’t have let Levi talk me into it, and I’m sorry the pact was a trick like that, but I don’t think I regret it. I know what I said this morning, but…” Eleanor trails off and looks down at her hands, fiddling with the silvery ring, carefully not looking up at him. He’s backed half a step away, she can tell, and she doesn’t want to find out if he’s angry or not.

“I am _alone_ here, Mammon, and as much as I hate saying it, you’re supposed to _protect me_. You’re all I’ve got. And if it takes _this_ ,” she tugs at the ring on her finger, finally gathering the courage to look up at him, “to make me feel like I’m not totally abandoned here, then I’m going to use it.” 

He looks dazed, and she can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not. Red sweeps his cheeks and she decides that she’s doomed because he’s angry and she’s only made it worse. _Oh, shit._ She should have cleared up the pact business with Levi and what it actually _means_ before jumping in headfirst to the boneheaded scheme. She fervently hopes that the pact offers her some measure of protection against the demon’s fury. He reaches out and she dodges his hand.

“I have homework to do,” she says, waving her new workbooks in his general direction. “So I'm going to…” _hide_ “go.”

And, like the coward she feels like, she runs. Turns tail and all but sprints back to her room in the (relatively) safe House of Lamentation where she holes up for the rest of the afternoon. The only times she ventures out is to find food and to beg Satan for her help with her literacy work. The administrators (Diavolo is not counted amongst their numbers, Eleanor is surprised to find) shaved off some of her required credits in an effort to get her Devilish up to snuff. 

Satan is quiet, a surprisingly good tutor, and, most importantly to Eleanor, shows no outward desire to see her drawn and quartered. The soft sibilants and hissing consonants fall from his tongue in a way that Eleanor knows she’ll never be able to properly replicate. The irregular verbs give her particular trouble.

“You ever think this is a waste of time? I mean,” she gestures to herself, glancing at Satan. “I’m here for a year, but as soon as I get back topside, I’ll never use this again. Everyone will think I’m crazy.” 

Satan tears his attention away from his novel and raises an eyebrow at her.

“Do you _enjoy_ being ignorant of your surroundings?”

“No,” Eleanor protests. “But… I’m nobody special up there. If I go off asking where the restroom is in this language, I’ll be locked up in a nice padded cell. Or whatever it is they do now. And Diavolo’s plan will be…” She trails off and flutters her hands, indicating smoke. The workbook doesn’t hold the same allure as it did before and she sighs. “I’m taking a break for now.”

Whether or not he hears her, she doesn’t know. But she leaves the library, intent on wandering the house to clear her head. It’s something of a dangerous game; whenever her mind isn’t occupied with coursework or classes or keeping a firm grip on what remains of her tattered sanity, she’s drawn back to the spiral staircase. Always.

Her feet find it of her own accord whenever she lets them and she can't shake the ridiculous feeling that someone keeps taking her by the hand and pulling her back to it. Endlessly. She frowns at the idea and drops her workbook into her bag. _That’s enough_ , she thinks. _I’m going up the staircase to check it out, and when there’s nothing up there, I can finally admit that I’ve gone bonkers_. Her strides are filled with determination and she only stops when she reaches the spiraling stairs.

And Lucifer. 

He levels his stoic gaze to her and Eleanor feels like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. 

“This is not a place for humans, Eleanor. You asked about danger this morning; _this_ is dangerous. Go back to your room.”

“But—” _it’s just a staircase_ , she wants to argue, but the look he gives me seals her lips shut. There’s a touch of anger, to be sure, but also… concern? She doesn’t have time to try to dissect him because he speaks again.

“Leave it alone,” he says, and his voice is gentle, coaxing, like he knows he can manipulate her into capitulating to his demand.

“No,” she says before she can think, feeling petulant. She freezes and waits for his retaliation, waits for the same anger he levels on his brothers to rain down on her. And… he laughs. An actual, deep, from-the-chest laugh that in no way feels sarcastic or sardonic. Eleanor blinks at him, taken aback more by the laughter than if he’d just yelled at her like she was expecting. 

“Your courage, at any other time, would be appreciated; perhaps now I see how you came to be selected for the program. Still, you have little choice in the matter; you can’t _say_ no, not to this. Back to your room, if you value your life,” he orders again with a dismissive flick of his fingers. 

She wants to argue but is painfully aware that first, he would catch her quickly; second, there’s no reason she can see that he would lie; and third, whatever amusement he has now is liable to evaporate and leave her with his cold rage. 

“Fine,” she bites out so that she can have the final word. Her curiosity is piqued, but not enough; there are other things to be curious about that she hasn’t been specifically warned against. She can ignore her curiosity for a year and make it back to her world with her life.

Except maybe she can’t. Another paralyzing, freezing nightmare has her itching to go back in the middle of the night. Instead, once she has feeling back in her fingertips, she works in her literacy workbooks and tells herself it’s for the best. When she remembers the sensation of ghostly hands at her throat, her cracking ribs, the way her skin seems to chill, she finds distractions during the day. Levi is, for the most part, happy to share his video games. He’s even happier to find that she isn’t as hapless with the games as she is her demonic pronunciation. 

“I’ve been needing another player to beat this one dungeon,” he says. “And with my skills, even a normie like you lending support won’t drag me down.” His odd sleep schedule doesn’t seem to be impacted by her midnight jaunts; when she knocks on his door early on Thursday morning, he’s already awake and already playing a game. Wordlessly, he hands her another controller, and if he notices the dark circles under her eyes at all, he doesn’t say a word.

She passes her first literacy test that day, and excitedly shows her grade to Satan, who offers her a high five. To her endless embarrassment, she finds that the praise makes her feel unbearably warm and she blushes. She makes an excuse and runs away, darts back to her own room where she throws herself face first onto her bed. What she wants to do is fall asleep and stay that way for the next week, but nightmares wait there, along with the constant choking, smothering feeling. She rubs her face and groans.

“Oi.”

Her eyes snap open and she sits up, so fast it almost makes her head spin.

“What’re you doin’ avoidin’ me?” Mammon sits at her desk, legs splayed in front of him like he’s been there for hours. She opens her mouth, intent on saying something, and then closes it again. _What the_ hell _,_ she thinks, springing to her feet.

“Mammon,” she starts, all fake sweetness as she places her hands over her heart. “ _What are you doing in my room?_ ” She knows the answer is that he is _probably_ hiding from Lucifer after some sort of failed scheme and bizarrely, it makes a sort of sense. Nobody would suspect him of hiding in _the human’s_ room.

“You,” he accuses, repeating himself, “are avoidin’ _me_ , the Great Mammon.” 

“I’ve been busy,” she says, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. “And _you_ have an answer to provide.” 

Unbelievably, he _pouts_ , as if she was the one who broke into _his_ room. She opens her mouth, unsure if she’s going to say something or yell at him when their phones chime. She glances down to see a group invitation to a movie night, and then ignores the flood of messages that are sure to flood in. 

Sure enough, both of their phones chime again. And chime. And chime. Mammon holds a finger up to her for silence, while he types out a reply, and Eleanor sees red. 

“ _Excuse me_ ,” she seethes, balling her free hand into a fist. But he’s totally absorbed in the chat messages, and she can’t catch his attention, so she gives up and takes a peek at her own phone. Just to see what is so interesting. 

As usual, there’s a brotherly squabble happening, broken up by two image files. Eleanor hovers her thumb over one of them, considering opening it; it isn’t from Asmodeus, so it _should_ be safe…

But she doesn’t get a chance to before Mammon stands and crosses the distance between them in an instant, holding his hand out.

“Gimme your D.D.D.” Mammon says, reaching for Eleanor’s device. A smile curls across her lips. 

“No,” she says, putting both of her hands behind her back so he can’t reach her phone. Whatever the photo is, it must be something _good_ to have him so bothered. Over a decade of dealing with siblings of varying ages means that she is very, very good at playing keep-away. She taps on one of the photos as she spins away, making sure to keep her phone out of his grasp. After a brief pause, the image opens.

“Mammon,” she purrs, “are you afraid of—”

But the words are stolen from her lips at the same time all of the air vacates her lungs, because he catches her by the stomach when he throws himself at her, knocking her to the floor. She gasps, seeing stars as she lays splayed out on the bedroom floor.

“Give—” he grunts, reaching for her phone, holding her shoulder down as he stretches out over her. 

“Nuh-uh!” she protests, throwing her arm out above her head so he can’t reach it. He reaches again as she thrashes, trying to throw him off. Her protests mean nothing to him, of course, and he drags her down further under him, still reaching for her phone. 

“You—are—too—heavy!” She gasps, wiggling her hips in an effort to throw him off. At the same time she pushes against his chest, catching bare skin from his unbuttoned shirt, he hand wraps around hers. She feels his grip tighten half a second before he scrambles up without her phone. 

“Tch,” he says, looking anywhere but at her as she sits up, clutching at her chest. His face is red, but she’s too busy trying to force air back into her lungs to notice. 

**«I love horror movies»** she messages back with a warning glance to the demon sitting petulantly across from her. **«I’ll be there.»**


	7. A Stupid Demon is a Useful Thing to Have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewrote parts 1-6 if you're not new here. Not much has changed aside from the order that some things happen in.  
> Third person will make spicier bits easier to write in the futues. (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞

Demonic horror movies are not all that scary, at least not for the resident human in the mix. The film was atmospheric and eerie and was certainly _different_ , but Eleanor just… does not find it scary. _Cultural fears are a hell of a thing_ , she thinks, curling up in her chair. While the twist of the angel being the real villain all along is interesting, the constant threat of exorcism doesn’t hold the same meaning to her as it does to the demons. Still, it’s a nice distraction and by the end of it, she’s tired. Maybe she’ll even sleep. After a week of nightmares, she is hesitantly hopeful.

She sits and listens and watches Levi tease Mammon about his reactions to the film, and then Satan and Asmodeus pile on. Beelzebub is more interested in the popcorn that he’d brought along—it had, through some miracle—lasted all through the film. All five flavors. When the antics devolve into throwing pillows at alarming speeds, she slips from her seat and wanders away. _No need to intrude on a family moment_ , she thinks, finding the easy past back to her room in the dark. The fact that the little fairy lights don’t ignite in her presence outside of her room is irritating, but she’s becoming accustomed to the dark. She curls up at her desk, pulling her chair out so that she can rest her feet on the solid surface. Her bed, though comfortable, is where the nightmares lurk. _Maybe_ , she thinks, _maybe tonight, I can just_ sleep. Hope is tantalizing as she closes her eyes.

And her hopes are dashed, again, when she wakes up in the very early hours of the morning frozen and trembling, still reeling from the cries for help that haunt her as she wakes. She knows one thing for certain: if this doesn’t stop, she is going to go _insane_. 

It is in these early hours when, filled with all of the bad ideas that only being half-asleep can bring, she decides to try the staircase again. And, as if summoned by the feeling of impending poor decisions, Lucifer is there. Again. Eleanor frowns at him and he frowns at her. 

“Out for a stroll?” He asks, already knowing the answer. Eleanor doesn’t reply. “We keep meeting here, don’t we? It seems you really _are_ curious about what's at the top of this staircase. But please, correct me if I am wrong,” he dares. “I believe I told you that it’s not a place humans have any business going.”

Eleanor takes a step away, removing her foot from the first stair. “I can’t sleep,” she says, wondering if he’ll assume the film had anything to do with it. He doesn’t.

“If you can’t sleep, perhaps I should make you some tea? Something that will help you have a good night’s sleep. You should know, however, that it is sometimes a bit _too_ effective on humans, to the point that you might _never wake up again_.”

She very carefully does _not_ roll her eyes, but his threat is not as effective as he perhaps hopes it to be. She’s not stupid; she knows she isn’t safe here. Just like she knows that Diavolo has issued standing orders regarding not seriously maiming the magicless human. 

“Maybe you underestimate how tired I am,” she says flippantly, inspecting her nails in the dim light. His expression turns stormy.

“Go back to your room,” he orders, voice low and deep and dangerous, offering no room for arguing and it _rankles_. Eleanor considers telling him no and pushing by him, if for no other reason than to be contrary. But she rather likes her head being on her shoulders—literally and metaphorically—and so she sizes him up again. She can find another way up the staircase; there’s _always_ a way around obstacles. 

“Fine,” she says, her voice light. “Good night, then.” She does not turn to see if he believes her. The chance of that happening is slim, at the very best, and she doubts that he trusts her enough to leave the staircase alone. Fine. Fair. She doesn’t trust him either. She does go back to her room, and she does climb back into bed, but she does not go back to sleep. Instead, she curls up and considers her options.

Levi, although he offers her the occasional game, still clearly does not think of her as a close friend. She knows that she’s barely something he tolerates, and only in small doses. He won’t help her. Beelzebub is _kind_ , but not a troublemaker, she thinks. Satan, from what she’s witnessed in the past week, lives to inconvenience Lucifer. But he also always seems to have more than one motive at a time, ones that she can’t quite discern yet. Asmodeus is much the same, even if his desires are much more apparent. She scowls.

And that leaves Mammon. 

* * *

He’s just as acerbic at breakfast, pushing around his meal while glaring daggers at her.

“Havin’ ta look at your face while I’m tryin’ to eat my breakfast…” he mutters, and she isn’t sure if she’s meant to heave heard him. “Eatin’ a human like you is a special treat. And instead of doin’ that, I gotta sit here and eat my breakfast instead. I mean,” he points his fork at her accusingly. “It’s like havin’ a premium-grade roast Iriomote musk hog right in front of me. Medium rare, cooked to perfection. But I can’t have it. And what’s even worse is that thick, juicy hunk of meat has started givin’ me orders now, like it’s the boss of me or somethin’.”

Eleanor quirks a brow and pops what she thinks is a strawberry into her mouth.

“Aww, Mammon, you think I’m premium-grade?” She asks, fluttering her lashes at him. It’s almost a shame, the way it’s so easy to get a rise out of him. 

“Wha— _no_. Are you payin’ attention to anything I say? Or do those ears of yours not work?” His complaints devolve into the real root of his problems, mainly Lucifer and his other brothers. She lets him continue, watching his animated antics.

“What’s up at the top of the stairs? The spiral ones,” she asks, twirling her index finger in a spiral as if he needs the illustration. 

“I _told_ ya to _listen_ to me when I’m talkin’ to you! I was tryin’ to tell you about Lucifer’s—Wait. The attic stairs?” He narrows his eyes at her and leans forward, pointing an accusing finger at her. “There you go again, stickin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong. You tried climbin’ those stairs, didnt you?” He leans back and considers her, and Eleanor suddenly feels very exposed. She resists the urge to slump into her seat and sits up straighter instead. 

“Do you know the secret to getting people to tell you stuff?”

“Plucky determination,” she monotones, accepting his scoff with aplomb. 

“Fuck, no, dummy. _Money_. And ya know how much money it’ll take to get me to even considerin’ spillin’ the beans? More’n you’ll ever have. The monetary equivalent of the entire world’s total oil production, times two, for the next two hundred million years. In short,” he slaps his hand flat against the table. “I ain’t gonna tell ya. Clear enough?”

She takes a long sip of her water; it’s cold, just like everything else in the Devildom. 

“Crystal.” She says. “I just didn’t know you were _that_ afraid of Lucifer.” _Three, two, one…_ She thinks, watching his face twist in irritation. Predictably, he devolves into aggressive denial.

“Then surely, the Great Mammon can just… tell me what’s up there. Or help me get to the top,” she says. Then the teasing drops from her face and she rubs her eyes. “Really, though. I’ve still been having nightmares, and I think they’re tied to the stairs for some reason. I don’t know.” She cuts him off as he opens his mouth. “I _really_ don’t know. But I can’t keep living like this.I need your help.” If she’d been looking for it, she would have seen the momentary softening of his expression. But when she looks up at him again, it’s to his usual cocky face.

“Of course you need _my_ help; you’re a weak human. It’s why I’m stuck with you.”

“So _help_ ,” she challenges.

“Lucky for you, distracting Lucifer is as easy as pie! Y’know that series Levi really likes? The Tale of the… uh…”

“Seven Lords,” Eleanor finishes for him. He snaps his fingers at her.

“That’s the one. Anyway, if you can get your grubby human hands on a vinyl edition copy of the soundtrack, you can distract Lucifer no problem. Don’t ask why; I’ve got no idea why he’s interested in something like that either. But it’s _really_ rare and worth a _lot_.”

She isn’t quite sure that she should believe him. A soundtrack? To a film? She had been expecting bloodletting and arcane rituals, at the very least. 

“Then help me do it.”

“Why should I help you? Go find Levi and work it out with him yourself, dummy.” His dismissal stings. She doesn’t particularly like asking for help, and asking _Mammon_ for help in particular is even more difficult.

“ _Please_.” She grits her teeth and spits the word out. “I’ll owe you.” She finally says when he shows no indication of budging. That makes him consider her, and she does not like the gleam in his eyes. “Nothing gross though,” she tacks on.

“Owe me, eh? That, I can work with.”

She tries not to let her fresh panic show. “And I _said_ nothing gross, I’m not going to—”

“Gimme your phone,” he demands. “Unlocked. I’m deleting those photos Lucifer sent.”

Eleanor sits in her seat, leaning against the backrest. _Really?_ She pulls her D.D.D. out, unlocks it and holds it just out of his reach.

“This is your price?”

He lunges for it, upsetting the bowl of fruit that sat between them. She lets the phone slide from her fingers and into his and watches as he taps away on it.

“Like hell I’m lettin’ a human have blackmail material. ‘S bad enough that asshole Lucifer has it.” He drops her device onto the table in front of her and she picks it up and scrolls through it quickly, making sure he hasn’t done anything else to it. It seems safe enough. And just like he said, when she scrolls through the group message again, the photos are gone. Shame. 

“So, let’s go and get the soundtrack,” she says. It’s Saturday morning, and while most of the brothers are likely already gone, she doubts Levi has gone anywhere. “Unless you have anything better to do,” she says slyly. Mammon scoffs.

“I _always_ have something better to do.” But she notes that when she stands and walks away from the table, he follows. He complains the whole way, but he follows.

“No way he’s gonna let you agree to lend you his vinyl. Actually, he ain’t even gonna let you inside his room. I’m sure of it! Not everything is always gonna go your way.”

Eleanor shrugs. “He has before. We play games. Sometimes.” Very occasionally. Maybe more like three times, and only when he’s in desperate need of a second player to complete a mission or beat a dungeon. But it still feels like progress to Eleanor, and she takes what she can get. Mammon laughs as Eleanor raps on the door to his room.

“The hell you do! Look at you, lyin’ about dumb shit!”

From deep within Leviathan’s room comes an irritated groan.

“Mammon, you jackass, you’re making way too much noise. Do me a favor and _don’t_ stand outside my door; I’m in the middle of rewatching the best scene of _The Magical Ruri Hana: Demon_ _Girl_.” 

_He didn’t tell_ me _to go away_ , Eleanor mouths at Mammon smugly. He glowers at her and then bangs a fist against his brother’s door.

“Get out here, will ya? We need to ask you something.” When there’s no reply, Mammon nudges her, indicating that she should try. 

“Levi, can I borrow your TSL soundtrack?” Eleanor asks, deciding that getting straight to the point is the best option.

“No!” Levi shouts form within his room, scandalized. Mammon berates her for being oblivious while Eleanor shrugs. _Worth a try_ , she thinks, and nudges Mammon back. _Do something_. Mammon grumbles under his breath and Eleanor stifles a giggle, pressing her hands against her mouth. She doesn’t notice when footsteps sound behind them.

“So _there’s_ the human everyone’s talking about,” Solomon says, leveling his steely stare on Eleanor. 

“People are talking about me?” She asks. She knows about the bad-natured whispering about souls and how good humans taste—the second of which she gets almost _daily_ within the House of Lamentation—but that was as far as it went. She thought, anyway. 

“Oh, yes. Seems a very ordinary-looking human has managed to not only discover the weakness of a demon, but to also exploit it and trick him into forging a pact. Despite having only just arriving.” There’s a quirk to his lips that Eleanor can’t place. Amusement? Maliciousness? She can’t decide.

“I had help,” she demurs just as Mammon laughs. “What kind of idiot demon would let that happen?”

She steps on his foot, knowing that it wouldn’t hurt, and shoots him a glare. _You_ , she mouths, wiggling her left hand at him. The pact ring shimmers in the light and he has the decency to look slightly ashamed. 

“What’re you even doin’ here, Solomon?”

Solomon looks pleased with himself as he says “Levi invited me.” He rattles off a password, which Levi responds to by reciting the matching phrase and opening his bedroom door. Levi looks at Mammon and Eleanor with a look of disgust.  
“Admittance by password only,” he says before slamming the door shut again. Eleanor makes a face at the closed door to indicate her frustration.

“The second lord—” she starts, repeating what Solomon said to get in. 

“The password has been reset,” Levi scoffs. “If you want to talk to me so badly, then maybe you should _watch the films_.” And the note of finality in his tone makes her step back from his door. She reminds herself that she shouldn’t have thought it would be so easy. _Demons_ , she thinks. _They might have movie nights and make popcorn and go to school, for some reason, but they’re still demons_.

“What are the chances he lets me borrow the films?” She asks, and pouts when Mammon scoffs. “I thought so. Is there a store around here?”

“And you’re plannin’ on buying them with _what money_?” He looks down at her and she shrugs. A devious smile crosses her lips. 

“Mammon—” she starts, but can’t finish her sentence. He puts his entire hand over her face to muffle her voice.

“Don’t even think about it. I don’t have money to give, and even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you. Asmo’s always splashing around his cash; you’d have a better chance asking _him_.” He means it as a joke, but Eleanor’s face lights up with the information. 

“Hey, good idea! Thank you,” she says with a light tap on his shoulder. And before he can stop her or she stops herself to think it through, she’s off. She knows where his room is (Levi warned her that first night very explicitly to never, _ever_ go there) and hopes he’s hiding within when she knocks on his door. There’s a pause, but she thinks she hears movement from inside. She knocks again.

“Asmodeus,” she calls out. “Could you help me with something?” The door opens just as she’s about to knock again; her hand is still in the air. Asmodeus answers the door with a towel tied low around his waist. And nothing else. Eleanor stares blankly back at him. 

“I _do_ hope whatever you need is important enough to have disrupted my morning skincare routine,” he says, and if he is grumpy at the intrusion, she can’t tell. Eleanor shrugs and keeps her eyes on his face.

“I need money,” she says plainly. “Because Levi won’t talk to me until I’ve seen the TSL series.” She expects Asmodeus to laugh at her or badger her for more information. She expects him to tell her no flatly and send her on her way. Instead, he smiles down at her and presses a hand against her left cheek. 

“I hadn’t expected you to go for _Levi_ ,” he says with a purr. “Wouldn’t you have more fun with me?”

 _Maybe_ , Eleanor almost says, _if that’s what I was after_. She swallows the admission and shakes her head. “That’s not what this is about.”

Asmodeus hums and steps back from his doorway, indicating that she should follow him inside. She does—or at least, she tries to. When she moves forward, she’s halted by a hand on her shoulder.

“And what do you think you’re doin’?” Mammon asks, staring at his younger brother. Asmodeus wears a beatific smile.

“I’m helping our guest, of course,” he says, his tone challenging. Mammon’s grip on her shoulder starts to hurt and she shakes him off, removing herself from between the two demons. “But all help comes with a price.” This is directed to Eleanor instead of Mammon, and she shrugs. Her last demonic deal went just fine; all Mammon wanted to do was delete photos from her phone. And the demons were sworn to keep from hurting her. She holds out her hand.

“Deal,” she says, and Mammon swears.

“Don’t go making deals with him, stupid!” 

But Eleanor’s hand is already in both of Asmodeus’s and he winks at her. 

“A deal is a deal, darling,” he says, and she can’t tell if he’s talking to her or Mammon. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, bright and early, hmm?”

“Deal,” Eleanor says, more firmly this time. Asmodeus's smile is starting to unnerve her, as is the way he squeezes her hand. _What did I just get myself into?_


	8. The Human Gets a Part Time Job

“It’s _my bed_ ,” she protests, stamping her foot. Just a little bit. Not that she’d ever admit it. She just wants to sleep in peace and quiet and the darkness, and he isn’t helping at all. 

“And you’re _my_ charge, and so that also makes this my bed,” he says, leaning back against her pillows with a shit-eating grin on his face, hands laced behind his head. Eleanor sputters. 

“That doesn’t even make any sense!”

“Sure it does.”

“No, it really, _really_ doesn’t! And get your shoes _off of my blankets!_ ” She picks up the cushion from her desk chair and lobs it at his head. It bounces off harmlessly, but she takes pleasure in noting how it jostles his sunglasses. 

“Nag, nag, nag,” he says, but toes off his shoes anyway. 

“I _meant_ for you go get _yourself_ off,” she seethes, and then shrieks in impotent rage when he wiggles his eyebrows at her. “That’s not what I meant!” She bellows, looking for anything else she can throw at him. But everything else is either still boxed up or on her bed, aside from her cup of pens. And she doesn’t feel like trying to scrub ink out of her sheets.

“I can make you leave.” She crosses her arms and glowers at him. “With the pact.” His grin turns into a frown and he sits up. 

“Don’t be tellin’ me what to do.”

She wonders if she has an extra pillow in one of her moving boxes to strangle him with. Or a blanket. Or… hell, she’ll settle for just about anything. 

“Don’t go thinking you can sleep in my bed!”

“You think I _want_ to be here?” He asks and she wants to reply _yes, because you’re an asshole!_ But she doesn’t. “You did a really fuckin’ dumb thing making a deal with Asmo, idiot. ‘Specially an unspecified deal.” And there it is; the thing she really didn’t want to think about. The nerves are back. Eleanor shifts on her feet and looks away from him.

“I made a deal with you,” she points out. “That turned out fine.”

“Yeah, cause I’m the Great Mammon and I don’t have any need for a human. Asmo might be a different deal. And so, because you’re a dumb human who goes around making deals with demons, I’m here to _protect you_. He said he’d get ya in the morning, and I don’t feel like wakin’ up early.” 

Eleanor throws her hands up into the air. In a weird way, it _almost_ makes sense. Asmodeus, like all of the other demons, was not to be trusted. Aside from her lapse in judgement, she knows this. Having someone actually bound to protect her wouldn’t be a bad idea, except for his insistence on taking her bed. She narrows her eyes at him.

“Fine,” she grits out, and walks over to one of the boxes to find something to sleep in. _Two can play at this game_ , she thinks, digging until she finds what she’s looking for. If she wants him out of her room, all she has to do is make him uncomfortable enough to leave on his own. Right? _Right_ , she decides. “But I draw the line at sharing a toothbrush.”

And she saunters off to her bathroom to prepare for what feels like war. She emerges with a thunderous scowl, wearing clothes she usually reserves for only the hottest days when her air conditioning has crapped out. The hem of her shorts haven’t been anywhere near her fingertips since high school.

“Move,” she orders, pointing at him imperiously. “I sleep next to the wall.” He rips his gaze from her to look at the wall she indicated, and then back to her. _Good_ , she thinks, satisfied with herself. _He’ll go running any second now_. Except he doesn’t. She flops down onto her bed, wraps herself in a blanket, and motions for the lights to dim. Tells herself it’s just like sharing a bed with one of her friends, except it isn’t because none of her friends have ever threatened to eat her.

“ _Don’t_ hog the blankets.”

* * *

He hogs the blankets. It’s the first thing Eleanor realizes when she’s forced rudely back into consciousness, followed closely by the fact that he hogs the entire bed.

“Urgh,” she groans, trying to stretch. Except she can’t, and that fact is added to her quickly-growing irritation. At some point during the night he’d rolled over onto his stomach, sprawled out, and pinned her down with one of his arms. _Ego weighs about eighty times more than muscle_ , she curses bitterly, trying to lift his arm off of her chest without waking him. After a few moments of struggle, she manages to extricate herself, shimmying out from under his weight to fall onto the floor. 

“Wake up,” she shouts at him a few minutes later, once she’s had time to get prepared for whatever Asmodeus has planned. For good measure she lobs a pillow at him, and then another when he doesn’t respond. When a knock sounds at her door she gives up, choosing instead to throw open the door. The Avatar of Lust rests against her door frame as if posing for a picture. 

“I hope you’re ready, human!” He says cheerily. “We’ll get your funding situation sorted out, and then—” he pauses, looking over her head. A dark smile crosses over his face, and Eleanor turns to see what he’s looking at.

“This is _too_ delicious. Tell me you didn’t.”

She’s at a loss for words for a moment while her brain catches up with the track of his thoughts, and when she does, her face burns in embarrassment.

“No! It’s not—ugh.” She rubs her forehead, a portend of the headaches she’s sure will accompany her through the day. “He chose the weirdest time to decide to give a shit about what Lucifer told him to do, and said he thought you were going to try to molest me. That’s it.”

“I’d never _molest_ you. Not unless you asked nicely.” Asmodeus waves away her words with an unconcerned toss of his hair as he crouched next to Mammon, still out cold. “Mammon, if you don’t get up right now, I’m going to feed Goldie to Cerberus,” he whispers sweetly into his brother’s ear. 

Mammon reacts immediately, springing into wakefulness, clutching the pocket where his wallet was hidden. Asmodeus looks pleased with himself while Eleanor watches the scene with crossed arms. _Of course_ , she thinks, irritated that she hadn’t thought of that maneuver herself. 

“Nice trick,” she says. “Can we go? I’d like to get this over with.” She jerks her thumb at her door as Asmodeus takes the opportunity to poke at her belongings. _None of these demons have any sense of personal space_ , she seethes, only snapping into motion when Asmodeus starts pulling some of her clothing out of one of the boxes. “Hey!”

“So eager,” he says, dropping the offending article. “But you’re correct; we have a schedule to keep. Off to Majolish!”

She doesn’t mind his hand at the small of her back, propelling her out and down the hallway, but the mention of a destination other than somewhere within the house or the school makes her just a little nervous.

“Majolish?” She asks, and he winks down at her, placing a finger on his lips.

“It’s a surprise!”

He refuses to answer any of her questions as he shepherds her out of the House and into the city, not pausing for her to stop and stare at any of the sights. Aside from the lack of sunlight and the strings of fairy lights casting ghostly shadows everywhere, it might have passed for somewhere in the human world. _Except for the magic store_ , she thinks, catching a glance of it as Asmodeus whisks her by. _And the temperature, maybe_ , she concludes with a shiver. She never thought she’d miss the sun so much. At some point, Mammon catches up with them; his color commentary doesn’t offer much in the way of information, but she likes listening to it all the same.

“Here we are,” Asmodeus says, stopping her in front of a huge building. “I’m _so_ tickled that you needed money so soon; I was trying to think of a way to get you in here and it just fell into my lap.”

She doesn’t like the way he indicates his lap, and she likes the way a tall demon comes to greet them even less. The new demon smiles down at her and pinches Eleanor’s cheek. 

“She is _too_ cute,” the demon says, not removing her gaze from Eleanor as she addresses Asmodeus. “I have to admit, I’m really very excited to work with a human!”

“Naamah,” Asmodeus chides, placing a hand on the demon’s exposed hip. “Do I ever not come through for you?” Naamah shrugs and tosses her vibrantly red hair over her shoulder, now running her hands through Eleanor’s hair. Eleanor tries to duck away but fails, succeeding only in bumping against the person behind her.

“And just what’s goin’ on here?” Mammon demands, and Eleanor buries her face in her hands. _I can’t have two seconds of peace_ , she thinks, followed shortly by _wait, he followed us?_ Naamah tugs her away from Asmodeus and Mammon, still petting her head like she might a puppy’s. 

“Eleanor will be modeling today,” Asmodeus says, letting himself fall back into a chair. “To earn money for whatever nonsense it is she thinks she wants. Naamah has been wanting a cute little human for a shoot, and Eleanor just looks _so_ corruptible.”

Eleanor’s cry of protest is drowned out by Naamah tugging her along, detailing all of the concepts that they want to do as she ushers her into a changing room. There are, at least, a few dozen; she wonders if everyone thinks she’ll do more than one session. The last thing she sees before the door closes and a team of demons descend upon her is Mammon and Asmodeus arguing. 

“Hey--” she protests as one of the demons brandishes a gown and a brush at her. “I can do it myself!” Her voice is squeaky and she pushes hands away, tugging the hem of her shirt back down over her stomach. An enraged and embarrassed blush covers her entire face, which the makeup demon seems to love because she also coos and pinches Eleanor’s cheek, in much the same way Naamah did. 

Ducking and dodging helping hands means that it takes her much longer to struggle into the dress than it should have been, but once she’s dressed most of the light groping dies down. She suffers through her hair being brushed and tied back, which is… actually surprisingly gentle, and she feels herself leaning into the touches. 

Which prompts another round of cooing from the demon doing her hair, the demon lacing the back of the gown, and the demon brushing glitter over her cheekbones and collarbones. She feels like one of the fluffy little dogs she sometimes sees in the fancier parts of her human world city. And she… doesn’t know how she feels about that. Her pride tells her that she should hate it, that she should descend upon them with all of the fury her body can handle. The rest of her genuinely likes the attention, even if it is being lavished upon her by actual, literal demons. 

“Little human, are you ready yet?” Naamah’s voice calls to her through the door. Eleanor makes a strangled noise, which all of the demons take as an affirmative. One of them pulls the chair out from under her; another helps her stand and walks her towards the door, patting her carefully on the head so her hair isn’t mussed.

“What is _happening_ ,” she gasps, stumbling out onto the set, staring at the way it’s transformed into a deep forest. It’s gorgeous. _I’m still asleep, and this is some weird twist because I’ve read too many fairy tales_ , she tells herself, touching one of the trees tentatively. It feels real enough to her, but it certainly hadn’t been there before. The sudden reminder that magic is a real and actual thing feels like a splash of cold water. 

“Your modeling debut,” Asmodeus calls to her from his spectator seat behind the camera. _Oh no, the camera_. She looks away from it, cowed, and tries not to look at the wide, unstaring eye for too long. “I’ve already signed the contract for you,” he adds, sounding too pleased with himself for Eleanor’s tastes. 

“You _what_?” There’s too much. Riots of color and sound assault her senses and she can’t focus on any one thing for more than a moment. His words barely make sense and she can feel her head spinning. 

“No need to thank me.”

“I wasn’t going to!” She squeaks, dancing away from the grasp of a stray demon, finding herself in the center of the stage she’d been trying to avoid. Her long, gauzy skirts twist around her feet and she almost trips, saved from falling on her face only by a tree branch within easy reach. 

“Okay, sweetie, here’s the story behind the shoot: you’re a virginal human princess, lost and alone in the woods—”

“I’m _what_?” Eleanor’s voice climbs another octave as she interrupts Naamah’s directions. She tries to catch the eye of her demon escorts to beg for help. _Corruptible_ , Asmodeus mouths at her with a smile. Mammon refuses to so much as look at her, his face red. _I should be the one pissed off_ , she huffs, curling her hands into fists.

“No, not like that,” Naamah corrects from the sideline. “Innocent,” the demon clarifies, readjusting the camera. Eleanor tears her focus away from Asmodeus and Mammon, deciding that no help would be arriving from that quarter. Asmodeus was busying himself now with his phone, taking photographs of himself. Mammon was staring straight up at the ceiling. _Useless!_ She wants to shout at them. 

“I… I don’t… I’m not really a model,” she tries to explain, wishing she could melt into an embarrassed puddle on the unnatural forest floor. She can’t find the words to explain that she’s an arts major; if anything, she should be the one _designing_ the clothes for the models, not the one wearing them. Being in front of the camera, literally or metaphorically, was never her goal.

“Like that!” Naamah exclaims, clapping her hands. Eleanor flinches and tries not to stare at the camera as it blinks repeatedly, capturing her startled image. Everywhere she looks—barring Mammon and Asmodeus—there’s a grinning demon; she can’t tell if the wide grins on their faces mean they want to eat her or keep pinching her cheeks. She tries not to imagine her fate resting on a coin flip and fails miserably. 

“Perfect,” Naamah, says to her, giving her a thumbs up. “Keep that expression. Lean against the tree—no, peek around from the tree now.”

Order after order falls from the demon photographer’s lips and Eleanor does her best to follow them, refusing to think about the contract that Asmodeus signed. Tries not to think of the fine print that he signed for her. Hoped that the camera blinking away wasn’t actually taking little slivers of her soul. She fails miserably on all counts, but the extra fear only makes Naamah more excited.

And finally— _finally —_ Naamah calls a wrap, and the forest around her dissolves into little bursts of magic and light. Eleanor gasps and pulls her hand away from the tree she was resting it on, feeling the magic burst around her fingertips. Asmodeus approaches her and hands her a water bottle, which Eleanor takes greedily. Mammon follows quickly on his heels, and Eleanor glowers at him. He _could_ have done something to pull her away—caused some sort of commotion like he does at home—but he didn’t. _Some guardian_. 

“You look adorable,” Asmodeus assures her, as if he thinks that will make her feel better. “Exactly like the virginal princess from the story.” She doesn’t like the way he emphasizes the word _virginal_ , as if he was fishing for an answer to a question he hasn’t quite asked. Yet. Eleanor suppresses the urge to tell him that it is absolutely none of his business. He traces one of the glittering whorls of fabric on her bodice and Eleanor shivers, feeling the cold of the area even more without the hot lights on overhead. Her lack of sleeves does not help the situation. 

“That was humiliating,” she says, pushing his hand away. “I have no idea why you’d want that to hold up the bargain, but—”

Asmodeus silences her by placing his finger on her lips “Oh, no, you misunderstand,” he tells her without removing his finger. “You’re being paid for this, of course; this lovely little sojourn was so that you could earn money. My _favor_ , dear human, is a kiss.”

Mammon makes a strangled-sounding noise behind his brother. Eleanor stares into his eyes, feeling the warmth of his finger against her mouth. _Why?_ She almost asks before realizing that it’s probably a stupid question. _Lust demon,_ she reminds herself, feeling thankful he hadn’t asked for anything else.

“Only from the neck up,” she cautions him, watching his expression morph from a small, seductive smile to a childish pout. 

“ _You_ are no fun,” he says, running the finger he has on her lips down her neck, lingering at the hollow of her throat. She feels her heartbeat against his touch, mourning for a moment when he pulls away. “But if you insist.”

He leans down over her until her vision is filled with nothing but him; a small bite at her lower lip makes her gasp and he takes the opportunity to deepen their contact. The hands that were at her face drop down to her hips and pull her against him. When her knees wobble, she can’t tell if it’s because of how long she’s been wearing her heels or not.

“I don’t want to see you doing that with a gross human,” Mammon cuts in, separating the two by yanking them apart. Eleanor stumbles backwards from the force, finally doing the thing she’d been dreading since she saw the long skirts: she trips. Hard. She tumbles to the ground, missing the victorious smile Asmodeus shoots his older brother. 

“What is your _problem?_ ” Tears sting at the corners of her eyes as she tests her ankle, ripping off her high heels and tossing them to the side. It’s sore and based on the way she landed on it, it might bruise, but she notes with little satisfaction that it’s likely just twisted, not sprained. The fabric of her skirts whisper around her as she struggles back to her feet, keeping weight off her ankle. Fury licks through her and she refuses to wait for any response— _not that he’d have a good one_ , she thinks—as she retreats to the dressing room. 

The laces at her back slow her down, and she gives up trying to carefully undo them in favor of tearing at them mercilessly. Her regular clothes are a welcome relief from the mess of floaty layers and glitter that the demons called a gown; her boots hold her ankle in place and offer a little bit of relief. The glitter, she decides after scrubbing fruitlessly at her face, will have to wait. 

She emerges from the dressing room, doing her best impression of a goddess of wrath, and walks haughtily up to Naamah, ignoring both Mammon and Asmodeus. Naamah pats her on the head once more and slips a little bag of gold coins into her hands. 

“Would you like to see the initial photos?” She asks, trying to sound kindly. 

“Thank you, but no,” Eleanor forces her lips into a smile. _It isn’t her fault I’m surrounded by pigheaded assholes_ , she reminds herself. “But while I’m here, could you tell me where I can purchase the TSL box set?”

If the demon finds the question strange in any way, she does not show it; instead, she gives the emotionally exhausted human walking directions. Eleanor nods, thanks her, and accepts her payment for the whole ordeal. _Soon enough,_ she thinks, _I can put all of this bullshit behind me_. As soon as she has the films she can get the soundtrack from Levi, which she can use to distract Lucifer, which means she can find her way up the stairs. Having a path to follow makes her feel a little better, even if only just a little bit. 

She follows Naamah’s direction to a store, ignoring the demon following her footsteps. She does not notice the minor demons that watch as she passes, interested in the human, just as she does not notice the little warnings her shadow gives them. Although her understanding of the native language is infantile at best, she is able to find what she’s looking for. Mammon follows her the whole way.

“Stop ignoring me,” he demands once she makes her purchase. Eleanor thanks the shopkeeper and pretends Mammon does not exist, stepping out into the street. The campus is not far off, rising from the landscape like a beacon in the dark sky; she keeps her eyes on it as she makes her way back. When it crops up in her thoughts, she is careful not to call the House of Lamentation home.

“Quit it,” he demands again. Eleanor pats her pocket to make sure he hasn’t pickpocketed her of her hard-won earnings, but otherwise ignores him. He grits his teeth. 

“You didn’t have a nightmare last night.”

She freezes and turns to face him, her expression torn between shock and anger. He knows he hits a nerve when she goes loose and relaxed, just like she did right before she batted his hands away the first time she really yelled at him. But even if it’s silence, it’s attention and it puts him more at ease.

“Obviously that’s just because _I_ was there,” he continues. “Nobody could be nervous with _me_ around.” Eleanor looks at him. Blinks. And then laughs. He’s not sure if he likes that or not, and it’s written on his face.

“I’m sure. Bed hog,” she adds, shooting him a sly glance. But then she sobers. “Actually, I think I’m just not used to not sharing a room. So you might _technically_ be right.” She looks back towards the House of Lamentation and narrows her eyes.

“Where did Asmodeus go?”

“He and one of the interns at Majolish have a thing.”

Eleanor hums. “I think I’m going to have to kick his ass for that stunt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still in isolation. Still suffering.


	9. The Movie Marathon

The main entrance of the academic building is nothing but stairs all the way up to the roof, kept completely open so that students with wings don’t have to bother with climbing level after level. It looks down onto the main lobby, providing a wide landing area; the windows allow the light of the ever-present moon to shine in. The staircase feature is something that Eleanor loves because most of the rest of the building feels closed off.

Her feet slap against the stone floor as she sprints down a hallway, taking a sharp turn towards the stairs. A quick glimpse of white and bright red hair on the lower level makes her smile and pick up her pace.

“Beel! Mammon! Catch!” She doesn’t wait to see if she’s caught their attention. Instead, she coils her leg muscles, springing forward. Vaults over the low handrail.

And leaps.

Her stomach lurches as gravity kicks in, dragging her down towards the hard floor two levels below her. She closes her eyes and curls into a ball, laughing, but doesn’t have enough time to really regret her decision before she lands. Hard. In two pairs of arms. The crash of her body into the demons hurts, a little, but not as much as breaking her skull on the flagstones would have. Giggles from adrenaline and the satisfaction of a bet won roll from her.

“Are you _fuckin’ insane?_ ” Mammon seethes. She swipes the hair out of her eyes and smiles up at her rescuers.

“Maybe,” she admits, waving at the demon who had been hot on her heels. The demon leans over the railing from the third floor, aghast. Eleanor waves at her with a cheeky grin. The demon snarls and turns away to soothe her wounded pride. “You can let me go now.”

She wiggles from their grasp, lands with both feet on the floor, and smooths out her skirt, flashing them both a proud grin. Seeing that she’s survived the fall (and the crash landing on two members of the student council) other demons turn away, losing interest quickly. 

“Do you make a habit of leaping from tall places?” Beelzebub asks, sounding genuinely interested in the answer. 

“Generally? No. But that demon said that I couldn’t outrun her and make it to the first floor before she could catch me, and I had to prove her wrong. Which reminds me,” she fishes a coin purse out from the inside of her jacket and tosses it to Mammon. “Go ahead and split that. I think it’s about two hundred grimm? It’s what she had on her. She’s gonna be _really_ mad when she notices it missing, though, so I should probably go back to the House of Lamentation.”

Mammon snatches the bag out of the air on reflex and Beelzebub doesn’t move towards it at all. She supposes that she should have offered him food, or something, but she doesn’t happen to have anything in her pockets. Beelzebub does not look pleased at her antics and she offers him another smile.

“Thanks for the save, though! I don’t know what I would have done if you guys weren’t here.”

“Cracked your human skull open like an idiot, obviously,” Mammon mutters, having finished counting out the contents of the bag. The human’s guess is off. By a lot. But what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, he decides, and pockets the three hundred and nineteen grimm. When she skips in the direction of the exit he follows her; Beelzebub still has one more class before he’s free for the afternoon.

“So,” she says, threading her arm through one of Mammon’s; he resists a little, but not enough to avoid her. “Back to the house? I really do have to leave before that demon realizes I made her a few bucks poorer for her stupid dare.” She drags him out of the building, acutely aware that the only reason she’s able to make any progress is because he lets her. _Payback for all the times he’s dragged me around_ , she thinks with little satisfaction. The quad is mostly barren at this time of the day; the students are either in class or lounging where they live. It works just fine for Eleanor, who has run out of patience for most of the demons surrounding her for the day.

“You jumped,” Mammon eventually says, sounding like he’s trying to work through a particularly difficult problem. “Without knowin’ if I was goin’ to catch you.”

Eleanor shrugs and lets go of his arm; she doesn’t need to keep him captive if he’s going to walk with her willingly, and they’re far enough away from the main building that she feels somewhat safer. 

“Call it a leap of faith,” she says, turning to walk backwards so she can look at him. “Guess I trust you.” He looks at her as if he’s waiting for her to laugh or add the punchline to the joke he’s sure is coming. The silence unnerves her a little. “Look, I’ve had a few days to think about the thing with Asmodeus, and I shouldn’t have gotten so mad at you. He’s the Avatar of Lust and might have tried something dumb. I get it.” 

He remains silent, staring at her in a way that’s starting to make her nervous. Humans she can read; she’s used to having to pick up on the tiny little tells that say so much. Demons are another matter entirely, she’s learning. With them, she constantly feels like she’s going in blind.

She pauses, waiting for a response. Aside from a small scoff, he doesn’t react to her words. “You were trying to help, I guess, and you hid it under the ‘ew, gross, human, blah, blah, blah’ thing because you don’t want anyone knowing you’re secretly _nice_ . I won’t tell anyone.” She places a finger over her lips, miming keeping herself quiet. His lips part and then he closes them, finally looking away from her. _Did I say something wrong?_ She thinks back over what she said, searching for anything that would have turned his mood. 

“Can I say that? Faith? Was that offensive? I’m sorry, I—”

“You know I’m a _demon_ , right? ‘M not nice.”

Eleanor shrugs, pleased to have wrestled words out of him. He can say what he wants; she won’t argue that. But for all that she’s not confident of her read on the demons, she’s also pretty certain that he’s at least a little pleased with her pronouncement. At least, she hopes that’s what the faint blush spreading over his face means. If it’s actually from anger, then she might be in trouble. 

“Whatever you say,” she laughs, spinning around so that she can walk beside him again. And this time, when she links their arms, he does not move away.

* * *

It’s Levi’s turn to cook (she hasn’t been assigned the chore yet; Mammon said something about her human cooking no doubt being unpalatable) and she asks to help. He assigns her to chop what she assumes are vegetables before he dumps them into a huge pot, letting it simmer over the fire while he plays a mobile game. He doesn’t otherwise speak to her, which is irritating and exhausting, so she gives up and sets the dining room table. 

Beelzebub comes back from class and steals a few early bowls; Levi chases him out of the kitchen and banishes him to the dining room, where he waits with Eleanor. She picks away at her literacy workbook while he works on something of his own. By the time the other brothers join them for dinner, her head is full of verb conjugations and grammatical structures. She waits until all of the others—save for Beelzebub, who is on his third bowl, and Lucifer, who hasn’t shown up yet—to get her own serving. 

She pauses when Lucifer storms into the room several minutes later, looking like he might rip someone’s head off if he could manage it without getting himself dirty. 

“Office,” Lucifer says smoothly, pointing at Eleanor. Her spoon stops halfway to her mouth and she stares at him dumbly, her mouth hanging open. He doesn’t wait for her to stand and follow; he simply walks away, head high with the surety that she’ll follow orders. Eyes wide, she looks around the table at the other demons. Seeing no help coming her way, she sighs, stands, and pushes her dinner towards Beelzebub. She’s heard the reamings he’s given Mammon—and, sometimes, Levi—and knows that there’s no chance she makes it back to her soup within the next hour.

The walk to his office feels both too short and too long. As if sensing his ire, the candles in their sconces blaze to life as she passes them on her way. The fairy lights remain dim; the flickering light lends her journey an ominous ambiance.

He sits at his office chair, a stack of paperwork in front of him, his hands steepled. Red eyes bore into her as she stands in front of the door, wondering if she should close it or leave it open. A quick jump in the muscle of his jaw makes her close the door. _Best not to test it right now_ , she decides.

“Sit,” he motions towards a chair in front of his desk, and she swallows her fear and sits. “I heard something very interesting today,” he begins lightly. “About a certain human having a death wish.”

Eleanor smiles weakly. He catches it and his frown deepens. 

“Need I remind you that Lord Diavolo has summoned you here for a _very important_ task? Serious injury or death will impede your ability to complete said task.” He does not raise his voice—not to her—which makes her feel worse, somehow, than if he’d raged and threw things. He continues for a single long hour, detailing how very important the exchange program is, that the fate of relations between the three realms rests on it. That if something were to happen to the lone powerless human, the Celestial Realm would be very displeased. Privately, Eleanor doubts that part of the lecture; she’s nobody special, and while she likes Simeon and Luke well enough, she doubts they’d be too upset if she vanished.

“Now, explain to me, if you will, why you felt the need to take a running leap off of the third floor balcony?” It isn’t a request. His voice is as low and dangerous as ever, but layered with additional warnings. _I’m a moron who can’t say no when her pride is injured_ won’t go over well with him, she thinks, even if it is at least partly the truth. She chews on her bottom lip and considers her options. Remains quiet.

“What is it that you are attempting to prove? That you’re as impulsive and stupid as Mammon?”

Her jaw clenches and she splays her hands out on her knees, refusing to look away from him but not wanting to meet his gaze anymore, either.

“I’m not a pet,” she eventually forces herself to say after neither one of them backs down. “And I might not have wings or claws or fangs, and I might be physically weaker than all of you, but I’m not _helpless_ .” Her eyes blaze and she stands, itching to leave the room but refusing to give in. “I’m not _reliant_. If that’s what everyone thinks, then that’s all I’ll ever be.”

The words fall from her lips before she can stop them, and it’s too close to the truth, hits too close to her vulnerabilities. She’s angry that despite herself he managed to draw even that much out of her and she goes to leave.

“We are not done yet,” he says.

“Well, I am!” She shouts back, throwing her arms into the air. Fury and the desire to murder her rolls off of him in palpable waves. He stares at her. She stares at him, her chest heaving as she draws in angry gulps of air.

“You’re suspended. For one day. It’s for your own good.”

If it’s meant to make her feel badly about what she’s done, it doesn’t work. If it’s meant to make her feel _anything_ , it doesn’t. Bile rises in her throat and she wants to yell at him some more, but her stunted sense of self preservation kicks in.

“Fine,” she mutters, reaching the door. She resists the urge to slam it behind her when she leaves. To her surprise, nobody is waiting outside of the door to eavesdrop on their meeting. The only ones not surprised by her summons were Mammon and Beelzebub; Mammon kept his head low, and Beelzebub kept himself busy with food. No doubt they filled in everyone else on her swan dive earlier. She toes the dining room door open to find it quiet; Levi is no doubt back in his room, and Satan has likely retreated to the library. Eleanor frowns, peeks into the kitchen, and finds that empty as well.

Luckily, Mammon is skulking around one of the hallways, and she catches him before he leaves for the evening.

“Movie night,” she says, pointing a finger at him. “My room.” And before she can hear him refuse her, she turns and storms back to the kitchen, intending on finding something to snack on. Her arms full of sweets, she makes her way back to her room, kicking open her door to vent some of her anger.

Mammon arrives a few minutes later, followed by Beelzebub. Eleanor rests on the floor at the foot of her bed, legs crossed in front of her. 

“Snacks,” she says, pointing over to her desk, where she’s dumped everything she pilfered from the kitchen. “This is twelve hours. Buckle in.”

Beelzebub does without another word. She doesn’t bother to ask about his presence. Mammon makes a big show of seeming as irritated as she does, but can’t can’t tell if there’s anything behind it or not.

“Why do I gotta join you for this full TSL Marathon Night you’re doin’? I have a test in two days, you know. Could be studyin’. We’ll be up all night, here.”

Beelzebub rolls his eyes at Mammon’s complaints, digging into a bag of popcorn. 

“You must have a lot of time, Mammon,” he says. 

“I _don’t_ ,” Mammon protests. “And you’re one to talk! What about you, Beel? Why’re you here?”

Beelzebub gestures to the table of snacks. “A movie marathon means there’s going to be popcorn,” he says happily. 

“You’re tellin’ me you’re just here for the food, beggin’ the human for treats like some sort of dog?”

Eleanor finds the bag she kept her purchase in under her bed and shoots Mammon a warning glare for his words, which he ignores.

“Anyway, what happened to you, human? Lucifer give you a good reaming?”

“He read me the riot act,” Eleanor says, sorting through her TSL box set to find the first in the series. “Told me I’m not allowed to make human pancakes on RAD’s floor and that I’m a disappointment to the program. I yelled at him, he yelled at me, and then I got suspended for a day. _For my own good_ ,” she mocks Lucifer’s intonation. Even Beelzebub pauses his munching at the admission, but Mammon is the one who laughs at her impression. Without another word, she starts the marathon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! Come talk to me, I'm suffering in isolation and even my dog is tired of me. Hit me up on tumblr @houseofhalation


	10. Invitation

She stops taking notes about three hours into the marathon, at around the same time Mammon realizes he’s emotionally invested and Beel finishes the very last of the popcorn she smuggled in. The stories are expansive, more like a history lesson than anything else; she understands how Levi could get wrapped up in it. There’s a lot to get lost in. She rests her chin on her knees, and if she sees any similarities between the seven lords in the films and the seven brothers in the House of Lamentation, she carefully tucks that thought away. 

Mammon is far more invested in the series than she thought he would be. Beelzebub stays with them for the marathon even when the food runs out. His interest is piqued towards the end, when the Lord of Emptiness is locked away by his eldest brother. Eleanor is half asleep, but even she notices the way he stills and focuses on the film in a way he hadn’t before. She takes note of that as well and promises to consider it later. When she’s more awake. As it is, she’s barely hanging on—her demon companions don’t seem nearly as bothered by their movie marathon. 

Although she doesn’t have classes, thanks to her suspension, she still files down to breakfast with everyone else, where an angry Levi waits. She can feel his angry glare on the back of her head, but she ignores it to favor finding something caffeinated. He remains silent all through breakfast, simmering in his anger as Mammon throws her easy questions on Tales of the Seven Lords lore. It isn’t until everyone—save herself, Levi, and Mammon—leaves that he speaks.

“I heard what you’re up to, human. Seems you’re trying to suck up to me so I’ll like you.”

Eleanor only shrugs, but Mammon seems personally offended.

“Whaddya mean? Who told you that?”

It’s little surprise to hear that Lucifer’s fingerprints are all over the rumor. She wouldn’t be too shocked to hear that he’s somehow bugged every room in the house. Creeped out and a little disgusted, yes, but not surprised. 

“You know, I’ve heard it said that the time a fool spends thinking is  _ wasted _ time. I think that applies here. You’re lucky to have so much time on your hands that you can sit around thinking up schemes like this. If  _ I _ had that time, there’s so much I could be doing: so much anime to watch, so many figurines and trading cards to organize, so many games to play.” He punctuates each task with an accusing finger jab. “As much as I wish I could sit around and watch a marathon of every TSL DVD, I don’t have the time. So why do  _ you _ get to have so much free time? It’s  _ not fair _ .” He crosses his arms and all but stomps one of his feet. Eleanor is taken aback by his complaints.

“Ah! I was waiting for him to say that. Levi’s signature line.” He bumps Eleanor’s shoulder with his own, speaking as if Levi isn’t even there. This ignites another spat between the two, and she can’t tell if it’s as good-natured as some of the other scuttles she’s seen between the brothers. 

“I’m not about to get all buddy-buddy with a human like  _ you _ ,” Levi points out. She rubs her forehead, her tiredness renewing itself; the  _ human _ talk was exhausting. And more than a little degrading.    
“I’m not buddy-buddy with this human!” Mammon protests back, drawing an aggrieved “ _ hey! _ ” from Eleanor. He ignores her, just as he’s ignored by Levi in turn. 

“Okay, knock it off with the human thing! Levi, if you’re not convinced that I  _ genuinely enjoyed _ the series, then how about this? We’ll have a friendly competition. Let’s compete to see who the bigger TSL fan is.”

It’s him. She knows it’s him. But just like when she jumped from the stairwell balcony yesterday, she has something to prove and a very specific goal in mind. 

“As if I’d accept a challenge like that. I mean, I already know what the outcome would be.”

“Afraid of losing?” She challenges, raising a single eyebrow. This incites more irritation from the demon.

“ _ Excuse me? _ Did you process anything I just said? Where are you getting this idea that I might actually lose to you?”

She forces a casual shrug and takes a long sip from her coffee mug. “Guess you are afraid,” she replies.

“Excuse me?  _ Excuse me? _ Are you processing  _ anything _ I’m saying here?!” His voice rises as he continues, and he clenches both of his fists to his side. She knows she’s walking a fine line, especially after the warning from Lucifer about not pulling stupid stunts.  _ This is a stupid stunt, of course _ , she thinks, looking at Levi as she takes another sip from her coffee and looking at him from over the rim. 

“Fine,” he finally spits out. “I accept your challenge; we’ll compete to see which one of us loves TSL more—you, or me. Just one thing, though. If you lose, you might never make it back to the human world alive.” He looks pleased with his threat, and Eleanor puts down her mug.

“If I win?” Levi laughs at her question as if he’s amused she’s even daring to think she might win. 

“If you win, I’ll make a pact with you myself. But you won’t. Still want to do this?”

She traces the rim of her mug with her index finger, considering his wager. Does she want another pact? It’s not her goal in and of itself, but it can’t hurt. Probably. At least, she doesn’t think so; he hasn’t asked for her soul, just threatened her life, which isn’t exactly a brand new thing for her to experience in the Devildom. And for the time being, she is still alive. Exhausted and perhaps a touch overwrought, but still alive.

“Okay,” she finally says. “Deal.” She holds her hand out for him to shake; he looks at it, then at her face, and then crosses his arms.  _ No handshake to seal the deal, then _ , she thinks, letting it drop back down to her hip. He doesn’t deign to give her any response other than outright ignoring her.    
“If you’re late to class, Lucifer will flip,” he says to Mammon, pretending like Eleanor isn’t standing right in front of him. She waves them goodbye—not that either notice because they’re too busy good-naturedly ribbing each other about humans. Alone in the house, the staircase calls to her again, as it has every time she’s let her mind wander. She could—perhaps should, even—try to climb them while everyone else is out. But…

She closes her eyes and it’s almost difficult to open them again.  _ I need a good nap _ , she thinks, stretching, wondering if she’ll have another nightmare if she does. A nap should be fine, right?

It isn’t. 

The same smothering, choking sensation wakes her as do the ghostly cries for help echoing through her dreams. She rubs the feeling back into her fingers and arms and lets a litany of invectives fall from her mouth. If she can’t get to the root of her problems, then, she decides, we will just have to try to mask them.

_ Demon house with a demon library at a demon college _ , she thinks, hastily making her way to the library.  _ There’s got to be something I can find to help _ . With her limited ability to make out the language, she selects a few promising-looking volumes; she avoids the ones with little skulls on the covers and skeletons on the spines.. Three travel with her to the kitchen, where she settles in for a little light reading, and without a handy translation dictionary she has to make do with what she can figure out and find in the pantry. The result, a few hours later, is a sickly yellow mixture that smells like sulfur and daffodils, which turns her stomach. It bubbles sluggishly in the tiny cauldron she found, even without a heat source.

She pulls a face and stirs it widdershins three times, releasing even more of the stench. It looks nothing like the recipe describes—at least, she thinks it doesn’t; she can only understand about a third of it.

“Who are you planning on killing?” Satan asks, startling her into dropping her wooden spoon into her concoction. The mixture eats it up and she watches it slowly sink to the bottom. Now that she’s been interrupted, she considers the fact that brewing a potion on the kitchen floor is, perhaps, not the wisest choice. 

“This is supposed to be a sleeping potion,” she says sadly, gesturing to it as he crouches down to look at her failure. “But I couldn’t read some of this and I had to substitute some of the ingredients, so…”

Even Beelzebub looks disgusted at her creation, which she supposes isn’t that much of a surprise. It looks truly unpalatable. 

“It certainly would make someone sleep,” Satan concedes, taking the cauldron from her and pouring its contents down the drain. It sizzles, and she winces. “Is there a particular reason you developed an interest in poisons?”

She shrugs and stands. “My intention wasn’t a poison,” she reminds him, handing him the book with the recipe open. “Lucifer threatened to kill me with a tea after he found me walking around after dark and I thought, well, a full night’s sleep doesn’t sound too bad. And here we are,” she gestures to the whole kitchen. If Satan finds it discomforting that his brother threatened to kill her, he doesn’t show it. Beelzebub, at least, looks a little uneasy, shifting on his feet. She supposes it has more to do with her being something of an agent of chaos rather than any references to her death. 

“Hmm.” Satan considers her while she’s busy trying to pick out Beelzebub’s emotions. “I heard what’s happening; it seems you have a little competition going with Levi.” Eleanor stops and looks at him.  _ Damn, news travels fast around here _ , she thinks.

“Are you hoping to find out what’s in the attic room? Is that it?

“Yeah, I—wait, do you all just sit around and talk about me behind my back?” The  _ only _ person she’s mentioned her self-assigned quest to is Mammon, and aside from Lucifer, nobody else saw her skulking around the stairs. She thought so, anyway. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Satan scoffs as Beelzebub furrows his brows.

“I’ll let you in on a piece of information. Levi is the demon of  _ envy _ . If you can work him into a jealous frenzy, he’ll lose control of himself. Then he’ll be guaranteed to slip up somehow, giving you an opening you can exploit. But… if he loses control of himself, your life will also be in danger.”

The fact that he’s giving her tips on defeating his brother strikes Eleanor as… odd. Strange, certainly, since she thought they were somewhat close. 

“Thank you,” she finally says, neglecting to mention that Levi has already casually threatened her life. It’s starting to feel so regular to her that she’s sure her day won’t feel complete without it.  _ The weirdest sort of background noise _ , she considers.

“I’ll give you a piece of advice as well,” Satan interjects. “The DVD version of TSL is up to season seven now; that’s the most recent release. Meanwhile, the original books are far beyond that, however, the latest volume has yet to be released. If you want to know what’s going to happen in it, you should ask Simeon.” His emerald eyes pierce into hers.

“Why are you offering free advice like that?” He has to have an endgame. She’s never seen him  _ not _ have an endgame in mind, even in the short amount of time she’s been there. 

“No reason,” he says with his typical smile that really, was more closely related to a smirk. It means trouble, Eleanor is sure. “I enjoy making things difficult for Lucifer, that’s all.”

_ Ah. _ There it is; at least he’s honest about his motives. And she supposes it should have been obvious if she thought about it for a moment. Her stay, though short so far, has already been eventful. Suspension in the second week of term would have made her high school self truly proud, and no doubt rankled Lucifer’s already touchy nerves.

“That does seem to be the one thing I’m good at here,” she admits, earning herself a real smile from the blonde. But the arrival of the other brothers—more specifically, Lucifer—sends her scurrying back to her room, where she pretends to be working on things for class when he walks by for a room check. It reminds her of her stints at group homes and sours her already turbulent mood.

“I am simply ensuring that you aren’t… up to anything,” he says, looming in her doorway. She wonders if he practices looking so intimidating or if it just comes naturally.  _ Probably it’s just natural _ , she thinks, waving one of her workbooks in his direction. Of course she’s up to something. His brothers know that she’s up to something; they’re even helping her. Him not knowing would be preposterous. Whatever game he’s playing, she doesn’t like it.

“Coursework,” she says, waving one of her workbooks in his direction. The newest lesson she’s gone over would have helped her during her potion misadventure. He levels a disbelieving stare at her, but it’s not a lie (at the moment) and so he goes away, shutting her door behind him. She has scant few moments to herself before Mammon bursts in. She slides her coursework away, knowing that there’s no chance she’ll be finishing it as long as he’s there.

“Lucifer is doing room checks,” she warns him, leaning back in her chair. He looks around her room, eyeing her empty wardrobe before he shoves something in it on the top shelf. The one she can’t reach without standing on something.

“That’s why I’m here,” he says urgently, shutting her wardrobe behind him as he looks around, as if he’s half afraid Lucifer is lurking somewhere in the corner of her room. “I need you to hide this for me for a bit.” He indicates her wardrobe—or, more specifically, the thing he hid in it.

“It’s not something you stole, is it?” She deadpans. “Because I’m already in enough trouble as it is—”

He protests her accusation, looking as innocent as he can manage. It’s dampened by the way he waves her lights out, pitching them both into murky gloom. 

“I just need to keep it from Lucifer for a little, ya know?” He pauses, and then sits at one of the chairs at her table. She gets the feeling that he isn’t leaving tonight, and observes him with a critical eye. 

“Sure,” she says eventually. “So long as it doesn’t… I don’t know, come to life and eat me in the middle of the night. Did you know that both Satan and Beelzebub gave me tips on defeating Leviathan?” She asks, pivoting the conversation. She’ll figure out what’s in the box later, especially if he’s going to be leaving it in her room.

“Beel and Satan  _ both _ gave you hints for how to defeat Levi?” He asks, looking discomforted. He pauses in opening one of the TSL cases, squinting at her as if looking for a lie. After a while he plucks one of the DVDs from its home and drops it into the player. Eleanor shrugs. 

“Ya know why they did that though, right? It’s all because I’m lookin’ after ya. You’re got Mammon to thank for this!” He jerks a thumb back at himself as if to highlight his point. “Those two are givin’ you special treatment because they know that  _ I’m _ the one in charge of ya. They want me to be pleased with ‘em.”

Eleanor isn’t sure if that makes sense or not—please one brother by selling out the other? But for every interaction that seems utterly human, reminds her of everything she’s experienced herself, there’s one that takes all of her expectations and shatters them. 

“So it’s clear how important I am, and how much my younger brothers respect me!” He presses the play button and one of the movies starts. Eleanor doesn’t see which one 

“Yeah,” she agrees hesitantly. “Maybe you’re right.” Satan’s excuse that he wants to irritate Lucifer  _ would _ make sense if she thought he knew that Lucifer himself had banned her from the stairs. And Beelzebub hadn’t offered any explanation whatsoever. “I’m not staying up for another twelve hours,” she cautions him as the opening credits roll and settles in on the floor beside him. The expression he wears is inscrutable and she gets the feeling that she’s said the wrong thing again, somehow.

“It feels weird when you agree with me like that,” he admits, pulling his gaze from her as he runs his fingers through the sweep of hair closest to his eyes. “I mean, doncha think you should’ve taken that opportunity to put me down or somethin’?”

She snaps to look at him, but he’s already focused on the film, and… her heart breaks. Just a little. 

“No,” she says softly, half hoping that he doesn’t hear her over the dialogue from the film. It didn’t  _ feel _ like a joke when he said it, even though she hopes it was. Dark humor she can understand—can appreciate, even—but she doesn’t think it’s his particular brand of humor. Her lips twist into a frown and she leans towards him just a little bit, reaching out to smooth some of his hair away from his eyes. In the darkness, she can’t see his eyes close for just a moment as he leans into her touch.

But the moment breaks when a tiny splotch of darkness appears in front of her face, bearing a tiny vial. 

“Oh!” She gasps, reaching out for the creature. “Who are you?” It drops the vial into her outstretched hand and squeaks at her; she fumbles around and finds a coin in her pocket, offering it in exchange for its delivery.

“Sprite. Very minor demon,” Mammon grunts, waving it away. “Looks like one of Satan’s,” he adds, pointing to the tiny green horns. Eleanor looks at the vial with new interest, turning it in her hands so it catches the light from her television. The demon inspects the single grimm she offered it, testing the metal with its tiny hands. 

“It’s cute,” she says, reaching out to touch its head. The sprite dodges her grasp and squeaks at her some more before disappearing with the coin. Mammon doesn’t reply; his focus is back on the film. She pops open the lid and tosses it back. At most it is half of a mouthful of the liquid, and it tastes like honeysuckle— _ much _ better than the sulfur mess her own attempted potion had been. 

And she sleeps.

Dreamless, painless sleep that doesn’t make her lock up and have to work to sit up in the morning.

* * *

She intends to thank Satan for his gift, but he’s nowhere to be seen in the morning. Or in the afternoon once her classes are done and she’s waiting in the classroom for Beelzebub and Mammon to stop squabbling over a sandwich. She’s wondering if a text would be acceptable or not when Simeon and Luke find them and mercifully interrupt the argument. 

“It’s nice to see how well you all get along,” he says with a smile Eleanor doesn’t know how to read. It seems  _ almost _ genuine, but there’s just a hint of sarcasm that seems strange coming from the angel.

“Are you blind? We’re practically tryin’ to kill each other over here,” Mammon protests, pulling his attention from Beelzebub. It’s borderline polite, which is as close to nice as Mammon wants to be with the angels; Luke, however, disagrees.

“Don’t you dare speak to Simeon like that! Show some respect!”

_ Aaaaand there they go _ , she sighs, waving to Luke and Simeon. The shorter angel doesn’t notice her at all and continues to let himself be worked up by Mammon. Beelzebub joins in on the teasing, admitting that he suspects Luke would taste good to eat.

“He says that about me too, Luke, don’t take it personally,” Eleanor interjects, trying to head off the next verbal fight before it can start. And, mercifully, it does. Beelzebub doesn’t even try to deny it. Simeon’s smile slips just the slightest bit. Mammon blushes and changes the topic as quickly as he can.

“What do you angels want? You don’t come up and strike up conversations with us outta nowhere.”

Simeon looks glad for the distraction and smiles genuinely at her, and it’s like a breath of fresh air. Eleanor can’t help but to smile back.

“I almost forgot,” the angel admits. “We’re actually planning to go on a camping trip soon, you see. We thought it would be a good way to have fun and for all of the exchange students to get to know each other. I’m here to invite you; we’d love it if you’d all join us.”

“Ugh, no,” Mammon says before Eleanor can say anything. “For starters, camping is a total drag. Right, Beel?”

But Beel is already thinking of something else, and his smile indicates that he doesn’t agree with his brother at all.

“Hmm, camping… That would mean cooking out… Ooh, and roasting marshmallows… I’m in.” Beelzebub’s voice is dreamy and far away; he’s clearly already fantasizing about all of the food he wants to roast over a campfire. 

“You’ve gotta quit lettin’ your stomach make decisions—”

“I want to go camping!” Eleanor butts in, having jumped to her feet when it was first mentioned. “When is it? Where are we going? What should I bring?” She pulls out her phone to take notes, waiting eagerly for Luke or Simeon to say something. It is, quite literally, the opportunity of a lifetime, and she’ll be damned if Mammon’s sulky pout makes her reconsider her excitement at all. 

“Bein’ around people like you is a drag,” Mammon grouches, but nobody around him pays him much mind. Luke is assuring her that she won’t have to share a tent with a demon, and Beelzebub is listing all of the things he’d like to eat. 

“Perhaps this weekend? After your competition.” Simeon offers.  _ How does everyone know about that? _ Eleanor wonders, but pushes the thought aside in favor of trying to coordinate meals with Beelzebub. The sheer quantity of things he lists off is more than a little daunting. 

“Just keep in mind that you’re invited too,” Simeon reminds Mammon with a smile.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams fists on table* let me go camping with the angels


	11. The Great TSL Showdown

She holds onto her trump card like it’s a gift from heaven—which, she supposes, it is in a way. Simeon was gracious enough to not chide her for cheating in the competition, which she’d fully expected when she asked him for help as Satan suggested. Instead, he gave her the key plot points for the next TSL installment and sent her on her way to the competition.

Which is where she stands now, looking nervously between Levi, the spectators from the House of Lamentation, and, oddly enough, Diavolo. 

“Hi,” she says, waving at everybody assembled. 

“I’m only doing this because it gives me a chance to show off my encyclopedic knowledge of TSL to everyone,” Levi scoffs. “I don’t even care about this whole competition.” 

Eleanor can’t tell if he actually means what he says or if he’s bluffing, but she’s pretty sure he’s bluffing. After all, she’s had demon after demon tell her that he rests a lot of pride on his interests; having someone beat him in a competition regarding them would surely pique his envy. Which was dangerous. Eleanor feels the card in her pocket nervously, casting a glance at Mammon, who sits with the other spectators.  _ Hope you’re ready to play goalie, bud _ , she thinks.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Mammon demands, signaling the end of his patience with Asmodeus’s introductions. Lucifer quirks a brow at his younger brother. 

“I thought you hated wasting your time at events like this, Mammon,” he says. “Yet, here you are. Truly, wonders never cease.”

“I got some free time, ‘s all,” Mammon demurs, blushing lightly.  _ Sorry _ , she mouths at him, knowing that the only reason he’s even there is because of her and the risk that Levi will lose his temper. That anybody else is there is surprising enough— _ except maybe Asmodeus _ , she thinks.  _ He sure likes to stir shit up _ . 

At Asmodeus’s prompting, she answers the first question easily. A brief glance at the back of the very first book’s cover would have given anyone the answer. When Levi proclaims that anyone could have gotten it correct, she agrees with him. His own first question is more difficult, and she certainly does not know the answer.  _ How are they deciding the questions? _ She wonders, hoping that they won’t be too specific. 

To nobody’s surprise, Levi answers his correctly as well. Diavolo looks endlessly amused by the conversations that bubble up around the questions, and Eleanor has the fleeting thought that the entire situation was set up by Lucifer for the demon prince’s amusement. She shoots Lucifer a suspicious glance but then looks back at Asmodeus when he calls her name.

“What does the Lord of Flies love to eat more than anything else?” He asks, and Eleanor blinks at him and then glances at Beelzebub, who is making quick work of a cheeseburger.

“... A cursed goat tartare sandwich with cheese,” she answers with a little frown.  _ Another softball question _ . Not that she’s complaining about it, particularly, but… Levi’s second question is incredibly specific, requiring that he provide an exact quote. Eleanor narrows her eyes suspiciously at Asmodeus, and is only a little surprised that Levi is able to answer the question precisely. 

“Eleanor, your third question regards the fifth brother, the Lord of Lechery. Who does he love more than anyone else?”

She almost rolls her eyes.  _ Seriously? _ She’s grateful not to have to provide an exact quote from the novels—especially because she’s never actually read them—but it seems a little  _ too _ easy. Especially with Asmodeus looking right at her.

“Himself,” she replies. “Obviously.” She’s rewarded with a charming smile and an indication that she’s correct. 

Levi’s next question is  _ impossible _ , she thinks, opening her mouth to protest it because  _ surely, nobody would be able to answer that _ .

Except he does. With ease. And he’s correct. She wants to win so that she can get the soundtrack, but not with the questions themselves stacked so easily in her favor. And sure, she has the spoilers from Simeon, but that’s insurance. She pats her pocket again from under the table. 

“Is it just me, or have all of my questions been way harder than Eleanor’s” Like suspiciously harder,” he says, and Eleanor nods in agreement. “Though they’re still so easy for me that I’m ready to fall asleep here. This is getting boring.” He drums his fingers against his table to highlight his irritation.    
“I’d say it has!” Mammon leans back in his seat and cracks his knuckles. “All right, Eleanor, I’d say it’s time to pull out the big guns! Let’s see how LEvi here likes your trump card!”

She could have done without the posturing and deliberate antagonizing of the Avatar of Envy, especially since Levi is looking at her with growing suspicion. She swallows and offers him a little smile. “Levi, you’re way too full of yourself. Which is why we’re about to reach inside ya, yank out that pride, and crush it like a bug!”

“Hey!” Eleanor protests over Diavolo’s chuckling and Levi’s sputter of indignation and then his incredulous laughter. Asmodeus encourages her to finish the competition and reveal her trump card.

“Spoilers,” she warns before reading off the plot points that Simeon summed up for her earlier. Levi goes pale and then red in the face.   
“That’s insane… The Lord of Masks wouldn’t do that to the Lord of Shadow! Liar!” He accuses her. “Don’t think you can fool me by making up random stuff like that!”

But Diavolo shakes his head, holding out his hand for Levi to be silent. “She doesn’t appear to be lying, as far as I can see.”

Levi protests his words, but is silenced again by Satan. 

“You know as well as I do that Lord Diavolo has the ability to discern whether or not someone is telling the truth.” Satan shakes his head, and Eleanor looks with a start at the demon prince. No doubt Satan’s explanation is for her benefit, as she seems like the only one surprised by the admission. 

“ _ Really?” _ She asks, but is drowned out by Levi’s steadily-increasing shouts of protest. Asmodeus only goads his increasing anger, and Eleanor wants to throw something at his perfectly-coiffed head but doesn’t have anything within reach. 

“I won’t stand for this,” Levi eventually says, his voice low and quiet now, making Eleanor more nervous than his shouting has managed to. “All you did was stay up  _ one night _ marathoning the DVDs. The idea that someone like  _ you _ could actually be a bigger TSL fan than me, it’s…”

It feels like the air is being sucked from the room; the little hairs on the back of Eleanor’s neck stand up. She has just enough time to think  _ oh no _ before Mammon shouts at her to run and Leviathan sprouts sharp horns. 

The breath catches in her throat and she stands, legs shaking.  _ Run _ , she orders herself, but is unable to move.

Levi wears an aura of malice and threatening intent and she barely has time to remember how to breathe before he moves.

“Mammon—!”

But Leviathan moves before Mammon can, ripping the table away from in front of her. Eleanor scrambles back, away from the enraged demon. Catches her leg on the chair behind her and falls, throwing her arm out to catch herself. Levi bears down on her as she raises her other arm to shield her face, closes her eyes, and waits to be eviscerated. 

It doesn’t happen.

“That is quite enough,” comes Lucifer’s smooth voice from above. “I believe you were to settle this via a  _ quiz _ , not through violence,” he points out. Eleanor cracks open one of her eyes to see Lucifer towering above her, holding Leviathan back with one gloved hand. Levi’s furious glare is still pinned on her, but she can barely look away from Lucifer.  _ Wings _ have sprouted from his back and it’s  _ breathtaking _ , like some sort of an avenging angel. The thought draws a strangled laugh from Eleanor, but it goes unnoticed. 

“Go to your room, Levi. You are out of control.”

Leviathan looks away from the human cowering on the floor to his oldest brother, looking chagrined. His horns disappear, and Eleanor watches the transformation torn between fear and fascination. 

“Fine,” he mutters, leaving the room. 

“I haven’t seen you leap to someone’s rescue in quite some time, Lucifer,” Satan goads, but if Lucifer hears him at all, he ignores it. He doesn’t look anywhere but at Levi, except for a quick glance at Diavolo when the prince supports his command. In the silence, Mammon steps closer, leaning down to Eleanor’s level. The look he throws his brother is one of naked jealousy and hurt.

“Is there something you would like to say, Mammon?”

“... No,” he denies, but is unable to meet his brother’s challenging gaze. Lucifer looks satisfied with the answer.    
“I suppose this means this ends in a draw,” Diavolo says, looking kindly down at Eleanor as if he thought that was forefront on her mind. Beelzebub busies himself by righting the table and salvaging what he can of the food he brought along. Eleanor accepts Mammon’s hand and allows him to pull her to her feet, ignoring the smug way Satan looks at her. In fact, she’s busy trying to ignore everyone completely.

“I have to say that I find it surprising that you would go out of your way to rescue a mere human, Lucifer.  _ Very _ surprising.” He looks smugly between the human in question and his oldest brother, not bothering at all to hide the malicious pleasure within his smile.

“As the oldest, it is naturally my duty to clean up my younger siblings’ messes,” he counters smoothly. Eleanor accepts the explanation, extremely grateful that he hadn’t let Levi rip her head off. At the same time, she sort of wishes he’d stepped in just a moment earlier, before Leviathan ripped away the table and casually tossed it halfway across the room. She moves her wrist experimentally and winces when pain ricochets into her hand and up her arm to her elbow. 

“Alright, we’re outta here,” Mammon announces gruffly. And for the second time that evening, Eleanor feels like she might die. Perhaps of embarrassment this time, which, she concedes, is probably better than being torn to shreds.

Mammon lifts her bodily and throws her over his shoulder like a sack of flour, ignoring her surprised squeal and then grunt as she lands hard. She can think of several dozen other ways he could have indicated he wanted to leave, none of which involve digging his shoulder into her solar plexus. 

“Hey,” she gasps, trying to force air back into her lungs. When he starts walking away from all of the other demons, she slaps his back lightly. “ _ Hey, _ ” she tries again. 

“Quit complainin’,” he orders. “The great Mammon is doin’ you a  _ favor _ , human.”

“It’s my arm that hurts!” She protests as he carts her out of the room. “Not my legs! My legs are fine!” 

Asmodeus seems to enjoy the show her position provides, taking the opportunity to snap a quick photo of the backs of her exposed thighs. At the same time, Satan and Lucifer pinch the bridges of their noses.

“Beelzebub, please make sure that no further harm comes to the human,” Lucifer requests with a deep sigh. 

* * *

“You know,” she says from her perch on his shoulder once they reach her room. “If you wanted to hold me, you could have just  _ asked _ .” She means it as a joke, for him to take it as a joke—but from her position she can’t see the way his cheeks burn red. Of course, she’s unintentionally hit a little too close to home. So he does the only thing he can think of to do.

He drops her.

She lands with an  _ umph _ on her floor and then draws the first deep breath she’s been able to for a little while.

“What the fuck was that?” Eleanor demands.

“Who’d want to touch a human?” He scoffs, refusing to look at her. “You just walk too slow and it’s annoying.”

And that is when Beelzebub arrives, bringing a whole pizza with him. He looks from Mammon, with his hands on his hips, to the human, who sits in a heap on her bedroom floor. She glares daggers at Mammon.    
“Midnight snack,” Beelzebub says, indicating the pizza. Eleanor’s face lights up; being almost attacked and then manhandled had somehow made her work up an appetite. 

“You’re a blessing, Beel,” she says gratefully as he hands her a slice. The movement tweaks her wrist again and she frowns at it; seeing the motion, Beelzebub pulls a roll of bandages from the pocket of his jacket. 

“I’ll take that,” Mammon snaps, plucking the bandages from Beelzebub’s fingers. He reaches out and brings Eleanor’s arm closer to himself as he sits. She expects him to be as rough as he has been when she was on his shoulder, and is surprised when he runs a finger around her wrist gently. She’s even  _ more _ surprised when he starts wrapping her wrist, and doesn’t have the heart to tell him that she probably doesn’t need it.

“So, ya made it out of that without being attacked, only to end up fallin’ on your ass and sprainin’ your wrist. Could you be more of a klutz?” There’s no actual malice or irritation in his voice, so Eleanor feels safe enough to roll her eyes. 

“Don’t test that,” she warns, knowing her own proclivities. A slightly sprained wrist is probably the best outcome she could have hoped for, considering she was attacked by a demon. An  _ angry _ demon; she remembers the palpable rage with a little shiver. 

“You humans are less physically capable than us demons,” Beelzebub acknowledges, already eating a third slice of pizza. “Probably because you don’t eat enough, or the right things. You should start working out,” he tells her, tilting his head to the side as if considering her deeply. “I’ll help you, if you want.”

Eleanor shrugs, jostling Mammon’s hold on her wrist. When else would she be able to claim that she had a demon as a gym partner. “Sure,” she agrees. 

“Why’re you even here, Beel,” Mammon grumbles, finally tying off the bandage he’d been working on. It’s a little loose, he acknowledges, but he’s not sure how tight he should have wound it for a human. Especially such a weak human. “Seems like you’ve been hanging out with the human an awful lot lately,” he accuses.

Beelzebub only shrugs, gesturing to the two identical phone chargers on Eleanor’s desk. “S have you. You’ve even left your charger here. And a toothbrush, too. That’s how much you’re over here.” He points to her open bathroom door, where there is indeed an extra toothbrush in her holder. She hadn’t thought anything of it before; surely it was normal that the brothers spent a lot of time with each other? Eleanor just assumed that they had things scattered all over the house. 

“W-well, that’s because, uh… You know.” He gestures at her wildly. “Gotta look after this human, don’t I? It’s my job.” He’s thankful that Eleanor is too busy inspecting her bandaged wrist to see the heat that steals across his cheeks. Beelzebub is not so forgiving. 

“You did a terrible job with that bandage,” he points out, making Eleanor look up from her wrist with a tiny frown. 

“It’s not so bad…” she demurs, but neither of the brothers seem to hear her.    
“Shut up! I’ve never had to bandage a wrist before; I don’t know how it works, okay? If you think it’s so bad, then  _ you _ do it, Beel!” But Beel mentions something about wanting to grab a soda from the kitchen and he leaves, taking the rest of the pizza with him. Mammon grumbles something about the pizza and leans against the side of Eleanor’s bed, resting his head on her blankets. 

She stands and rifles through her boxes, throwing a change of clothes into her backpack. Luke and Simeon promised to pick her up early in the morning, and she wanted to be prepared the their camping trip. The boxes were starting to run low on clothes; she’d have to find a way to wash everything soon, and then put her things away.

“Hey. C’mere,” Mammon says, and she turns to see him staring at her with a serious expression on his face. She’s far more accustomed to his cocky smiles or grumpy pouts; the change takes her aback and draws her to him. He reaches out and hooks one of his fingers under her loose bandage. “Next time your life’s in danger…”

He pauses to swallow hard, looking somewhere over her shoulder.

“I’m gonna be the one to save you, all right?” 

She almost— _ almost _ —tells him that she really hopes that her life won’t be in danger again, that she hopes he won’t  _ have _ to try and intercede. But he looks so open and honest in the moment that she can’t bring herself to shatter it. Instead, she reaches out to grab his unoccupied hand.

“And if I can’t get there in time, you’re just gonna have to die, got it? I don’t want anyone else steppin’ in, so it’s me or no one, understand?”

She drops his hand and snorts so that she doesn’t laugh in his face. 

“Yeah, all right,” she says to humor him, rocking back on her heels to sit on the floor. “You know, Mammon, that was  _ almost _ really sweet of you.” As she expected, his face is awash with a blush. She wonders if he knows that it’s so visible on him.    
“Yeah, whatever,” he mutters. “You should just agree with me like that all the time.”

From her pocket, Eleanor’s phone buzzes, interrupting whatever she was going to say next.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, frowning down at her screen. “There’s something I have to do, but I’ll be right back. Scout’s honor.” She offers him a little salute, neglecting to mention that she’s never been a scout of any sort in her entire life. Not that it matters; she sees the way he tries to play off his confusion with a nod.

The halls are quiet at she makes her way to the planetarium; she supposes that the other brothers haven’t made it home yet, and that realization doesn’t make her feel any better about secretly meeting Levi. After all he’d just tried to attack her not too long ago.  _ And here I am, acting like a prize idiot _ , she thinks, pushing the planetarium door open. 

“Took you long enough,” he mumbles. “Next time I call for you, you have to be faster. Like the way Henry races over whenever his best friend the Lord of Shadows calls on him. You saw the films, so you should know. But don’t get me wrong—Ii’m not saying you and I are best friends or anything. As if,” he scoffs, looking down his nose at her. “Do you know why I called you here?”

She wasn’t expecting the monologue, so she stops halfway across the room from him. 

“I presume to eat me,” she starts. “But I really do just want to be friends—”

“ _ What? _ ” He blushes as easily as his brother, she notes. “Friends?! You and me? A-are you out of your mind?”

Eleanor just shrugs.  _ Maybe I really am _ .

“Do you remember about half an hour ago when I tried to kill you? Like kill you as in make you dead? You realize that happened, right? Are you dumb? Did you hit your head and get amnesia? Also…  _ let’s be friends?! _ What are you, a toddler? Who just walks up to someone and asks that? You’re  _ unbearable _ ,” he enunciates the last word of his tirade with terrible accuracy, and Eleanor is beginning to think that the blush is from anger rather than her desire to be friends.  _ Ah, shit _ , she thinks, wondering how long Mammon might take to come and actually save her. 

Levi scrubs his face with his hands, wondering how he got himself into this mess.

“Okay, look. Here’s the thing. I told you that if you won the competition, I’d make a pact with you. You pulled a really dirty trick, but a promise is a promise, so even though I  _ hate it _ ,” he looks pointedly at her, twisting some of his hair into a ring. “I’ll do it. I’ll make a pact with you.”

The ring he offers her isn’t made up of any metal she can determine, mostly because she can’t think of any metals that are naturally blue and look like sunlight on water. 

“... Thank you,” she says, stepping forward to take it from him. He doesn’t place it on her hand like Mammon did; she wonders if that means anything. But then again, maybe not—he doesn’t seem to like touching people as much. 

“So what’s this about, anyway? Normie human like you asking to make a pact with a demon like me? You have to have some sort of ulterior motive.” 

She doesn’t point out that the pact was, actually his idea, that all she wanted from the competition was access to the TSL soundtrack. But she  _ does _ need it…

“May I borrow your TSL soundtrack?” She asks, finally deciding to put his ring on her right hand, right across from Mammon’s. He visibly deflates.

“I  _ knew _ nobody would actually  _ want _ to make a pact with me. Not like this is surprising or anything.”

Eleanor looks at him like he’s just sprouted an additional head.  _ I literally just told him I wanted to be friends _ , she thinks.  _ What the hell? _ But it seems he’s come prepared because he pulls it from his back pocket and hands it to her.    
“You’d better give it back when you’re done, is that clear? If you touch it, make sure to wipe it of any fingerprints. And no eating potato chips or anything when you handle it. It’s super, super rare, so you’d better not lose any of the inserts or anything!”

Unexpectedly, she feels… bad. Really bad. She wishes she never had to involve Leviathan in her schemes because it’s clear that he values the disk and does not want to give it up. 

“I’ll take really good care of it, I promise,” she says, holding out her hand. He doesn’t shake it, and Eleanor starts to wonder if demons have anything in particular against handshakes. “I’ll see you later then, okay? Thank you so much!”

And before he can ask her any other questions, she skips out of the planetarium, heading straight towards Lucifer’s room. The door is open and—surprise, surprise—he’s doing paperwork.

“What brings you here at this hour?” He asks, snapping Eleanor’s attention back to him. She meets his gaze and very carefully avoids looking at the levitating skeleton in the corner of his room. She wonders if it’s human, and if that would be better or worse than a demon skeleton. Half afraid her voice would shake ( _ Skeleton! _ She thinks, still acutely aware of it) she hands him the TSL soundtrack. He looks genuinely surprised when he spies it. 

“Do you realize what this is that you have in your hands?”

Eleanor shakes her head, wishing he would just take the damn thing already. As if reading her mind, he plucks it from her fingertips and holds it carefully.  _ At least I know he’ll be careful with it _ , Eleanor thinks.  _ So Levi won’t want to skin me alive _ .

“This is no ordinary soundtrack; the original composer killed himself while writing a variant theme for the Lord of Corruption. The track was never used. It is said that it is cursed, and so only a very limited quantity of disks were released with it. This,” he tips it towards her, “is one of them, of course. I had no idea that Levi had one.” 

He slides the disk out of the case reverently and holds it by the edges, which helps to put Eleanor at ease.    
“We’ll consider this payment for saving you earlier. My thanks, Eleanor; I think I will retire and spend the rest of the evening listening to this. You see, we demons cannot resist temptation. When there’s something we really want staring us in the face,” He looks at her pointedly and she sees sparks of red in her eyes. Her heart pounds. “We have to possess it. That is simply how demons are. Do you understand?”

The nod she gives him is hesitant. “Yes,” she says, her voice weak with confusion. 

“Good,” he says with a dark smile. “What I want right now is to stay up all night listening to this record. But don’t think this means that you’re free to wander as you please. The attic is still off limits.”

“Mm-hmm,” she says, not trusting her voice. 

“Good night.” Lucifer dismisses her, and Eleanor follows her feet back out to the hallway. She doesn’t know how to read him. She doubts she’ll  _ ever _ know how to properly read him, but there was definitely more than one meaning to what he told her. Her trembling fingers tell her that much, and she’s never had cause to doubt her instincts yet.

She heaves a heavy sigh and runs her hands through her hair, pulling it away from her face. Behind her, orchestral music swells into a crescendo.

He warned her against the attic, so of course, that’s where she heads next.

  
  
  



	12. Campfire Stories

If she expects something mystical or magical to happen when she makes it up to the top of the stairs, she is very, very mistaken. They’re just stairs. The root of her nightmares is not waiting for her at the last step no matter how much she wishes it was. It’s just walls and paintings and…

She pauses. Squints at the bare spot of wall. It shimmers like a heat wave and then… part of it melts away to reveal a latticed door. Intricate little designs are made up out of the negative space, little geometric patterns that are right at home with the rest of the ornate architecture in the House of Lamentation. Eleanor leans forward. Takes a step like she’s being drawn into the door.

And stops when she sees a man.

“Hello?” She whispers into the space. She studies him as he studies her; she takes in his grey-blue hair, shot through with silver, his purple eyes. His height. The way he seems to fill the doorway.  _ Really fucking hate being five feet tall, _ she thinks, the idea coming unbidden.

“I knew you’d find me,” he beams at her as if they are old friends, holding his hands wide. 

“Who are you?” She asks, fighting the urge to keep walking forward. Where it comes from, she doesn’t know. But she makes a vow to herself to find out. He opens his mouth as if he’s going to answer, and then confusion clouds his visage.

“I’m afraid I’ve forgotten that answer long ago.” 

“Are you a demon?” Her question comes out more as an accusation and she crosses her arms as a chill sweeps through her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says with a gentle smile. “Just the thought of being one of them is enough to send a shiver down my spine. I’m a human,” he tries reaching through the empty space in the door keeping him inside the attic, but is repelled as if by an invisible force. “Just like you,” he finished sadly.

“A demon imprisoned me long ago, and I’ve been stuck here ever since. It was Lucifer. I’m guessing you’ve met him. Please, Eleanor. You’ve got to help me escape.”

_ This _ makes her take a sharp step back and look at the rest of the room. Aside from what she assumes is a locked door, he doesn’t look like much of a prisoner. He has a comfortable looking bed. Cupboards. Books. The same things she has in her own room, really. Delicate ornaments of metal and glass dangle from the ceiling, like suspended stars with wicked-looking points. If she were to dream up a demon dungeon, this would not be it.

“I’m asking for your  _ help, _ ” he says to her silence.

“No.” Her answer is immediate and she can’t help the part of her that wants to scream, wants to promise that she will help him. That part of her she forces down. 

“Are you afraid of the demons?” He asks, his voice all honey and concern. “No need to worry. As soon as I’m free, I’ll send you right back to the human world. I promise. It’s not a bad deal, is it?”

She lets him speak, even though she wants to tell him he’s lying. Wants to tell him that he shouldn’t know her name, not if he’s really a human trapped up in the furthest reach of the house. 

“Now, you can’t open this door alone. It’s sealed with very powerful magic and will require the consent of Lucifer and his six brothers; but, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, they're not exactly nice folks. But if you create  _ pacts _ with them, you can command their power and set me free.” His gaze flicks to her hands, where he spots her two rings. It’s no use trying to hide them, even though she wants to. “Just do whatever it is you’ve been doing to the rest of them,” he says, nodding to her hands, which have balled into fists at her sides.

“Do we have a deal?”

“You’re not human.” The words come tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop them, and shock only registers for a moment on his face before his expression settles back into one of serene calm. “Your eyes are purple,” she points out, tapping her temple beside her own stormy blue. “I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve seen a human, but none of us have purple eyes. So try again, please.”

There’s a brief flicker of rage in his expression and it passes so quickly that she half believes she imagines it. It’s this that breaks whatever hypnotic spell she’s been under enough for her to take another step backwards.

“I am trapped up here,” he says in a rush. “And I told you the complete truth behind the seal. Right now, you  _ are _ the only one who can help me; I promise that I will make it worth your while. What do you say, Eleanor?”

“I don’t like liars,” is her reply. She doesn’t offer him another explanation as she turns tail and runs down the stairs—not that she feels she needs to provide one. He doesn’t make another noise as she retreats, and when she makes it back to her room, she can’t figure out if that’s a good thing or not. Because now she knows that he’s up there. Waiting. Biding his time for… Something. 

Her room is mercifully empty when she returns, which means that when she throws herself onto her blankets and muffles her frustrated scream with a pillow, there’s nobody there to witness it. That night is full of more of the same nightmares as all of the other nights; freezing and burning and suffocating all at once until she can’t take it anymore and just paces. The sky lightens, but there’s no sun to brighten it completely. Defeated, she makes her way to the dining room.

“Good morning, Eleanor.”

She halts in her tracks, bagel halfway to her mouth. 

“You look tired,” he acknowledges. “Were you up late last night?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she says, deciding that a half-truth was better than a complete lie. She can’t shake the feeling that Lucifer just  _ knows _ whenever she tells a fib, like some sort of preternatural lie detector. 

“I allowed you to satisfy your curiosity last night, but rest assured that it will not happen again. I believe humans have a saying… Curiosity killed the cat, is it? The same applies to you,” he points out. 

“Satisfaction brought it back,” she finishes. “I mean—that’s how that ends. ‘Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.’” She takes a savage bite of her bagel and shoulders her backpack, scurrying away before Lucifer can say anything else. To her relief, Simeon and Luke are already waiting outside, carrying their own bags. Simeon looks right at home, while Luke looks like he’s waiting for some terrible monster to burst out of a window. 

_ Just me _ , she thinks as she opens the door, offering the two angels a small wave. 

“Eleanor! Excellent; we’re just waiting on a few more to arrive!”

* * *

The camping trip with the angels has, to Eleanor’s complete mortification, turned into something else entirely. Solomon shows up, which she supposes shouldn’t have surprised her—it  _ is _ meant for the exchange students, after all. But the additions that truly surprise her are some of the demons: for some inexplicable reason, Diavolo has tagged along. And, Eleanor is learning, wherever Diavolo goes, Lucifer follows not far behind. She’d been hoping to avoid him for the next few days at the least, and his sudden appearance at the campsite irritates her. 

She and Luke spend an inordinate amount of time struggling to figure out how to set up a tent, while Solomon simply snaps his fingers and his appears out of thin air. 

“Nice trick,” Eleanor says, brushing the dirt off her hands. 

“Magic does have perks,” he concedes, watching her struggle. She shoots him an irritated glare and yanks hard at her tent’s cord, finally getting it to stand. Luke claps his hands as if she’s accomplished a major victory. 

“I thought humans usually went camping,” Diavolo says, looking at her curiously. Eleanor shrugs and sits down in front of the fire someone started when she was struggling elsewhere, holding out her hands to warm her fingertips. The temperature in the Devildom is something she’s still not quite used to. 

“I mean, yeah, some do. I’ve just never had the opportunity to. Do angels and demons not camp?” Luke scoffs at her question, crossing his arms and turning his nose up.

“Angels are far too busy with important things to spend time doing things like that!  _ Demons _ might, though, since they seem to have so much free time.” If he notices the silencing glare Lucifer shoots him, he doesn’t act like it. Diavolo takes it as good-naturedly as ever, but Simeon is the one who censures him. 

“No need for that,” Simeon points out., which embarrasses Luke, which in turn makes Lucifer goad him into another inflammatory statement. It’s… bizarrely normal, but spins quickly out of control. 

“Hey, Luke,” Eleanor cuts in, hoping to avoid a brawl on her very first camping trip ever. “Have you ever had a s’more? Let’s make some.”

Beelzebub heartily agrees with her suggestion, even though he’s cleared through a significant portion of the marshmallows already. After Diavolo asks a question regarding the treat, Eleanor explains that it’s a common camping treat, but she’s always just made them in the microwave or over the open flame of a stove.

“Isn’t that a little dangerous for a human like you?” Luke asks, all wide eyes and worry. When  _ he _ reminds her of her humanity, it’s not with quite the same sting as the demons. Instead, he’s concerned, and thoughts of raging fire and accidents are evident on his face. 

“Mmm, maybe,” she acknowledges, popping a half-burnt marshmallow into her mouth before Beelzebub could steal it. “But I was never too worried about it. I’ve always felt like I’ve had a guardian angel or something.” She winks at Luke playfully, and is surprised to see him frown.

“You can’t, though! There aren’t any more guardian angels; that posting was decommissioned ages ago.”

_ Oh _ . Her expectations that the blonde angel would laugh it off are absolutely broken, and she’s not sure what to do with the information. It feels taboo to know it, somehow, like she’s been able to peek behind the curtain to see something she definitely shouldn’t have. Solomon seems interested in the information, as does Diavolo, while Lucifer looks equal parts bored and disgusted by the topic of conversation.   
“So… they actually used to exist?” She asks, unable to tame her curiosity.

“Long ago,” Simeon answers. “Some of them got… too attached to their charges, which created problems.” He looks up to the sky at the ever-present glittering stars and bright, unyielding moon. It makes telling the time incredibly difficult for Eleanor without looking at her phone. 

“He means to say that they created half-angel bastards,” Lucifer interjects, “And what he’s neglecting to mention is that the offspring of such unions were hunted down by the Celestial Realm.”

Simeon shrugs, shoots Eleanor a sad look, but otherwise doesn’t deny Lucifer’s words.

“That was the policy, and it is true that the half-angels typically lead short, tragic lives. But there are none left in the human world. There have not been for a very long time.” At Simeon’s words, Lucifer stiffens and his face turns into a blank mask. Diavolo leans forward into the conversation, clearly enraptured. 

“Is that what happened to them?” He asks. 

“Of course they’d want to come home,” Luke says, protesting Simeon’s choice of words. “They belonged in the Celestial Realm; they shouldn’t have been in the human world to begin with.” Simeon shakes his head at Luke’s words, but otherwise doesn’t contradict them. The explanation makes Eleanor’s head spin, and she scoots away from Luke just the slightest bit. Not that she dislikes the juvenile angel, of course, but it was easy to forget that they had different ideas regarding humanity and it tended to pop up at the worst of times. That he seems to be okay with a realm claiming entire ownership of a living thing does not make her feel comfortable.

“S’more?” She asks, handing Beelzebub a finished one, hoping to be able to change the topic. He takes it from her and pops the whole thing into his mouth, flashing her a happy grin. And when he reaches out to swipe some chocolate from her face she freezes. Luke, ever the child he insists he isn’t, makes noises of disgust and pulls Eleanor closer to him, distracting her with questions about other human world sweets. 

She’s eternally grateful for the fire. First, it provides a circle of warmth against the cold Devildom air. Second, its red glow helps to hide her flushed face, irritation and frustration fighting for purchase.  _ He doesn’t mean anything by it _ , she reminds herself as she watches him stick his finger in his mouth. But she’s only human, and so she can’t help but to wonder what his mouth would feel like on  _ her _ —

“What’s your favorite thing to bake?” Luke asks, his innocent question ripping her from her daydreams. She blinks, looking back to him, hoping that her thoughts aren’t written on her face.

“Um,” she starts eloquently. “Cookies?” Luke beams up at her and he rattles off his favorite cookies to bake, and she thinks she’s in the clear until she catches Solomon’s eyes.  _ He knows _ , she thinks, and curses herself again. Of course he knows; the canny sorcerer seems to know  _ everything _ , and she doesn’t like the way he seems to be laughing at her with his steely grey eyes.  _ Damn him _ , she thinks with a shiver.

“Are you cold?” Beelzebub’s question makes her feel worse about everything, somehow. 

“I’m always cold,” she says. “It’s very cold here.”

Diavolo nods, considering her words. “I forget, sometimes, that you are without magic, unlike the other exchange students. Winter will be awful for you,” he adds cheerily. Luke mutters something under his breath about how the entire exchange program was poorly thought out, and Eleanor can’t help but to agree, at least a little. She’s in over her head, and no amount of her bravado will help her in a place so utterly alien. 

“Hmmm,” is all she says in response, wondering if a demon won’t have ripped her head off before winter arrives. She gives herself fifty-fifty odds of still being alive at that point. 

“How are you adjusting?” Simeon asks, saving her. “This world is not unusual to myself, Luke, or Solomon, but you are the odd duck out.” She looks around her, at the faces across from the fire, and feels cold all over again.  _ What do they want to know? _ Lucifer looks at her, red eyes holding sparks from the fire. He dares her to say anything negative.

“Fine,” she says, refusing to look away from him. “Lord Diavolo, everyone at the House of Lamentation has been… They’ve been gracious hosts,” she says, mostly meaning it, aware of his ability to detect untruths. If that last addition was detected as the barb towards Lucifer she meant it as, well… She doubts he’ll say anything about it. At least, not here. She hopes.

“Are you homesick? Are you missing family? I miss Michael,” Luke says, his words tumbling out as if he can’t stop them. Eleanor shifts uncomfortably beside him.  _ What do I say? _

“No,” she finally admits, refusing to admit more. Still, the question irks her: she doesn’t want to play twenty questions with the heavenly host or their demonic counterparts. Her normal nervous tic returns as she swipes her fingers through her hair, staring into the fire. 

“You’re injured,” Simeon says, just as Luke adds “I knew a human shouldn’t be in that House!”

“It’s fine, really!” Eleanor protests, sliding her long sleeve back down on her arm. “Just a bump. I’m clumsy.” The well-worn lie slips easily from her before she even knows she’s saying it. She doesn’t look up to see the mixed reactions of those around her, though Diavolo gives her a strange, open look. 

Simeon holds out his hands to her and smiles, reaching over Luke. “May I?” 

Her gaze flicks between the two angels before she finally relents, holding her injured wrist out to him. Simeon is calm and stoic, but Luke bristles when he makes eye contact with any of the demons. She places her free hand on his shoulder, hoping to calm him so he doesn’t make a scene and add more ammunition to the chihuahua taunts. 

“It’s nothing, really. Just a bruise. It’ll be gone in a few—”

Simeon runs a finger down her arm, tracing the bandage before tugging it away to show her skin as it was, unmottled from bruising. She blinks down at her wrist in his hand and hums in gratitude, twisting it as a test. It doesn’t so much as ache. 

“Thanks,” she said, pulling back and running her own fingers across her wrist. There was once a little scar there, but that’s gone, too. She taps the area where the scar once was, wondering if she’ll miss it.  _ Probably not _ , she decides. 

“Useful, that,” Solomon says, watching the magic with interest. He reaches out to grab Eleanor’s arm for inspection but she ducks away, sticking her tongue out at him.  _ Demons and sorcerers seem to have absolutely no concept of personal space _ , she thinks. 

“You responded well,” Simeon says, looking at her again. She wilts under his shrewd gaze, wondering if there was something wrong with her. But she pushes the idea aside because  _ of course there is _ . She doesn’t like how certain her thoughts are. “Humans usually experience some discomfort when encountering holy magic.”

She looks up to see that almost everyone is staring at her, and she shrinks into her seat even more. Luke looks like he wants to hug her or—or something, she can’t tell, but the way he looks at her starry-eyed and smiling unnerves her. Simeon and Solomon both watch her as if they’re mentally calculating something, and Lucifer looks as stormy as ever. 

“Um, so, a thing humans do around campfires is tell ghost stories,” she says, knowing that at least Diavolo will be interested. “Anybody have a good one to tell?”


	13. Blood Oath

She wakes up beside the dying fire, smoke clinging to her skin, the night chill biting into her bones. At some point in the night, someone threw a blanket over her; she pulls it closer to her face and curls into a ball on the ground. 

“Oh, good, she’s awake.” The words bring with them a poke to her back, as if someone wasn’t sure of their validity.

“‘M up,” she mumbles blearily. “Feel like death, but I’m up.”

“Good,” Luke says, and when she opens her eyes it’s to his inquisitive face. “Beelzebub ate all of the food and it looks like rain, so we’ve decided to head back.” Eleanor stretches and winces at the protest her aching muscles respond with. 

“Really?”

Beelzebub looks from her to the empty food containers and shrugs, the same sad expression she’s become accustomed to on his face. Pity. Her first camping experience was a little lackluster. And, she realises with a wince, her stomach hurts a bit. Too many s’mores, probably. She sits up and looks behind her to see that someone has already put away her unused tent. And generally cleaned up the campsite. She blows out her cheeks and accepts Lucifer’s hand up, even though she hesitates to take it at first. Coming from him, she thinks it’s surprising.

“I would prefer to be indoors before the rain falls,” he says, and the illusion of kindness is shattered. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, brushing the dirt and dead leaves from the ground off her jeans.  _ Definitely laundry time _ , she thinks, noticing a splotch of chocolate on the hem of her sweater and scraping it with her nail. The sky—what she can see of it through the tree branches and the darkness inherent in the Devildom—does look a little stormier than usual.  _ Demons  _ have _ to have night vision or something _ , she thinks, looking at them with new interest. She wonders if the angels have something similar or if Solomon enhances his somehow and she’s the only one stuck in perpetual dark. It isn’t a particularly comforting thought, that she’s the only one at such a severe disadvantage.

Still.

When she stumbles over tree roots, there’s always someone to offer her a steadying hand, whether they’re angel or demon. Solomon takes a different route back to Purgatory Hall through the forest, and Eleanor hears Luke whisper something about not wanting ‘the human’ to be alone with ‘the demons’ for too much longer. Luke and Simeon walk behind her, Beelzebub to her side, and Lucifer and Diavolo lead the group in the very front. Beelzebub scrounges for berries and mushrooms and anything else he can find to snack on while Diavolo and Lucifer talk. Well—Diavolo talks. Lucifer mostly nods and hums at the appropriate times.

“I’d say this is going well,” Diavolo says, the smile evident in his voice. “Your human seems to be fitting in well, Lucifer; this will prove to the Celestial Realm that we can all cohabitate in peace.” And if he says it loud enough for everyone else to notice, everyone politely ignores it, even if Eleanor isn’t keen to be referred to as someone else’s human. Luke bristles, clearly disagreeing with the prince’s fantasy, but not even he says anything; though Simeon’s quieting hand on his head might have had something to do with that. 

“No war this time,” he continues cheerfully, as if the concept doesn’t actually bother him all that much; Lucifer is very careful to remain stoic by his side, even if his step does falter for the briefest of moments. It’s Eleanor who stops in her tracks.

“ _ War? _ ” Growing up in the households she’s grown up in, she is at least tangentially familiar with the basics of the Bible and the idea that all-out war between the Devildom and the Celestial Realm would be a  _ very, very bad thing _ . It’s not difficult for her to imagine that the human world would not fare well when caught between the two. 

“Oh, yes; were you not informed?” Diavolo asks, as if he hadn’t been there for her welcome party. “The Celestial Realm only agreed to the exchange program on the grounds that the human and angelic students end the year unscathed. Should one of you die, we will likely devolve into war.”

“Huh,” Eleanor says, her voice tiny and weak. Simeon pats her twice on the shoulder and then walks past her, while Luke grabs her now-healed wrist and tugs her forward. 

“I keep  _ saying _ this is a bad idea,” he whispers to her. And suddenly, Eleanor is very, very glad that the angels don’t seem to know about the incident with Leviathan. Or her swan dive off the third floor. Or the times Beelzebub casually mentioned trying to eat her that first day. She feels sick and allows the young angel to tug her forward. She remains silent the whole hike back to the House of Lamentation, turning over the new information in her mind. It’s something she should have guessed, at least—that the other realms had some sort of agreement she wasn’t privy to. But she can’t understand  _ why _ they’d ever select a powerless human for the program— _ experiment _ —if there was so much riding on it. 

She’s never been so happy to see the House as she is now, when the lights come into view, and she skips forward to the front gates, pausing only to give Luke a tiny hug. She considers, briefly, trying to offer Diavolo a clumsy curtsy, but decides that her attempt would be more insulting than the wave and quick thanks she actually gives him. And then she’s inside, hot on Beelzebub’s heels, though she doesn’t follow him to the kitchen.

“You!” Levi says, pointing at her from the top of the stairs.

“Me!” She replies, startled. He waves his phone at her.

“Become friends with me on Mononoke Land! It’s a game that’s just released today for your D.D.D. I need to complete a few friend missions.”

She’s never been so glad to be pestered into playing a game as she is right now in this moment, knowing now that she didn’t somehow incur his wrath while she was away. He’s sent her a message with a link to the game’s page; she downloads it and enters her information as he watches.

“If you’re going to go do normie things like camp, you can at least go and catch some cool monsters and trade them with me.”

_ Yeah. Sure. Games _ , she thinks.  _ I can do games _ . What she can’t do is wrap her head around the fact that she’s a metaphorical chew toy in a metaphysical war where, it seems, neither side really has her interests at heart. But phone games? Those she can do.

“No problem,” she says, sending him her friend code in a message. And once she’s accepted his friend requests, she retreats to her room, fully intending to scrub the smoke from her skin and the new pricklings of fear from her mind. Breakfast, then, and homework and maybe she’d ask Beelzebub to show her where the gym is because she feels the urge to punch something. She needs an outlet.

* * *

Working out with Beelzebub is  _ exhausting _ and exactly what she needs because it saps her nervous energy and tires her out. And  _ holy shit, he’s nothing but muscle _ . It takes some effort to keep her eyes from him in the mirror, which is especially difficult to do when he’s trying to instruct her on how to properly lift weights.

“I might stick to stretches for now,” she says, retreating to the mats on the other side of the room. Where it’s safe.  _ God knows I’ll get distracted and do something stupid like drop a weight on my foot and _ — _ whoops! _ — _ there goes the human realm, probably _ . She faces the corner of the room and focuses on holding poses, enjoying the slight burn some of the stretches provide. It feels good. Normal. She can ignore the demon behind her that way. 

At least, until he stops her to remind her that humans have limits and she looks tired. She  _ is _ tired. 

“You didn’t do bad,” he says, as if to take the gentle sting from his words. And then he holds his arms open and Eleanor wrinkles her nose in faux disgust.

“You’re all sweaty,” she protests, but extends her arms for a hug anyway.  _ Holy shit _ , she thinks,  _ he’s so good at hugging _ . And it’s been a while since she’s had a good hug, so she sinks into his arms and appreciates the platonic touch. She  _ likes _ touch—she’s a touchy person, and always has been—but even before she was spirited away into the Devildom, she’d been separated from the people she cares for. So even though the person she’s hugging is technically a demon and has  _ technically _ threatened her with death, whose brother has  _ actually _ tried to kill her, she loves it. And mourns when he pulls away.

“Hungry,” he says, and stalks off to the kitchen. And that’s the end of that; she grabs a water bottle and her phone from her bag, noticing for the first time that Levi has been messaging her for the past few minutes. His last message says  _ be outside my door in five minutes or you’ll be sorry _ , punctuated with an angry emoji. Sent three minutes ago. She takes a swig from her water bottle and hustles upstairs to find out what her fate is.

And since Mammon is there too, she thinks that it can’t be anything good.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says looking her up and down, raising an eyebrow at her wardrobe choice. “Put on some damn clothes before Levi answers the door—you’ll give him a heart attack.” She doesn’t notice the way the tips of his ears turn pink or the way he stares at her throat when she tips her head back to drain the last drops from her bottle.

“Yes,  _ dad _ ,” she grumbles, wrapping her towel around her shoulders. She’s cold anyway, outside of the gym, and Levi might actually have a heart attack. It doesn’t seem like it’s outside the realm of possibility for the shy demon. 

“Oi—” he starts, but is cut off by Levi opening his door. 

“Took you both long enough,” he says, narrowing his eyes at the both of them. “Come on in.”

“On second thought, I’m gettin’ a real, real bad feeling about this for some reason. Listen, Eleanor, we gotta get outta here, and quick—” He grabs her by the shoulder and tries tugging her back from the open door, but Levi is too quick.    
“Too late,” he exclaims gleefully. “I’m not about to let you slip through my fingers—not now that you’re already here!” He tugs Eleanor inside his room and, because he still hasn’t loosened his grip, Mammon follows. She stumbles and finds herself in the middle of a circle, surrounded by sigils. And when she tries to toe the edge of the circle, she finds that her feet feel like lead. 

“Welcome, my dear brother the Lord of Fools… Welcome, Henry! Welcome to Castle Leviathan!” He throws his hands into the air like a showman and smiles at both of them, waiting for them to say something back. Eleanor feels like she’s been shoved into the lead role of a play she’s never heard of, and stutters nervously.

“Wha? Which one of us is supposed to be the Lord of Fools?” Mammon asks. 

“Stay in character,” Levi scolds. “This needs to feel like we’re really in the world of  _ The Tale of the Seven Lords _ . You’re the Lord of Fools,  _ obviously _ , Mammon. Which means that you, Eleanor, are Henry.” He nods in her direction, and she is marginally happy to find out that she’s the plucky protagonist instead of one of the Lords. 

“Now, both of you sit down.” He waits until they’re both seated before he continues. “We’ve both made pacts with Eleanor—you know what that means, right?! This is  _ just _ like the situation between the two lords and the hero Henry when Henry makes a covenant with both the Lord of Fools and the Lord of Shadow!”

“So?” Mammon interjects. 

“ _ So _ , we’re all going to swear an oath to become allies!” He says happily, brandishing a sword. The only thing that keeps Eleanor from blanching is the fact that she can’t remember Henry getting skewered and she’s  _ fairly _ certain Leviathan doesn’t want to clean blood off of his floor.

“What’re you doin’ with that?” Mammon squawks, trying to flee the binding circle but finding it impossible. 

“Blood oath! This is a  _ perfect _ replica of the Lord of Shadow’s greatsword—look at how detailed the crest on it is!” He brandishes it again, narrowly missing Mammon’s nose in the process. Eleanor winces and ducks the blade herself, noting how sharp it is for a prop replica. At least, she  _ hopes _ it’s a prop. 

“Quit wavin’ that thing around!” Mammon protests, throwing his hands up in front of his face. “ _ Do _ something, Eleanor!”

Eleanor pauses. Looks between the two demons. Considers her options. 

“Yeah, okay. I’m in.” 

“Are you outta your mind, you airhead?! Can’t ya tell this is  _ dangerous _ for you?” Eleanor only shrugs at Mammon.  _ Can’t be that bad _ , she thinks.  _ Considering he’s not actually tried to lop off my head yet.  _

“You’ve never met a preteen girl, have you?” She asks, thinking back to that time she and one of her foster sisters pricked their fingers so that they could be  _ real _ sisters. Or that time she and one of her school friends did something similar right before Eleanor had to transfer out and they never spoke again. Mammon just gives her an incredulous stare

“Upon this holy blade shalt the swear an oath of blood!” Levi says, perfectly acting out the role he’s assigned himself. And he brings the blade down on his forearm, slowing it at the last moment so that a thin slice is left behind. Before Mammon can protest (much more, anyway) he does the same to him—if not with a bit more viciousness. Eleanor holds out her own arm and is treated far more gently, her own sacrifice to the blood oath little more than a paper cut. 

“Okay, done! The three of us are allies, bound by a blood oath,” he says proudly. Mammon looks stricken, like he’s just watched Lucifer melt Goldie to nothing but a puddle of plastic in front of him. 

“You just took about five thousand years offa my life, Levi…” he says, pulling his sleeve down over his cut. Levi ignores him, placing the sword on his desk reverently while he pulls his D.D.D. out of his back pocket. 

“Since we’re allies now, we’ll need to exchange numbers, Eleanor. Just in case, you know… the chat client goes down. Or something. It’s not like I want to be  _ friends _ , or anything. But we’re sworn allies not, so it’d be weird if we weren’t able to call each other. Totally strange. That’s the only reason I’m doing this,” he finishes, holding his hand out for her phone. She hands it to him and watches as he saves his number in her phone and messages himself so that he has hers. 

_ These demons just need to learn how to ask for things _ , she thinks with a fond smile. Still, she supposes that it’s part of their bizarre charm. 

“... And done,” he says, toss her phone back at her. “I guess it’d be okay to give me a call when you have a free moment. I mean, I wouldn’t mind or anything. Dunno if I’ll respond… But, I mean, I might… If I have nothing better to do.”

The sigils at her feet fizzle out, their purpose fulfilled, and with them the magic dies as well. She finds she can move again and takes the opportunity to stretch her legs out. Mammon crosses his arms and looks at Levi, clearly tired of the whole situation.

“What am I gonna do with you, little brother? You’re just dyin’ to exchange numbers with the human, huh? … You can be sorta cute sometimes, ya know that?” 

Eleanor rolls her eyes and rubs her arm where Levi cut it.  _ You’re one to talk _ , she thinks, pulling her towel closer around her shoulders. It’s  _ cold _ in Levi’s room and her leggings aren’t cutting it. 

When she returns to her room it’s largely unchanged—her boxes are still stacked in the corner closest to the kitchen, but there is an addition. A brazier rests in the center of her room, tended to by a little sprite with miniscule blue horns. The coals in it glow, sending heat through her room. 

“Thanks, buddy,” she holds out her hand so the sprite can get on it. With a single finger, she strokes its head and it squeaks happily. “Who sent you?” It doesn’t answer in a way she can understand, if it answers at all, and she can’t imagine which one of the demons around her would have done something so selfless.  _ Maybe Diavolo asked Barbatos to do something _ , she thinks, deciding that it seems reasonable. Strange, but mostly reasonable.  _ Maybe it’s in preparation for the winter he mentioned _ . 

The sprite follows her into her bathroom, and she hopes it’s something more like a pet than a fully sentient creature when she runs her bath. Just in case, she pours extra bubbles in and scrubs her hair underwater. 


	14. The Great Custard Incident

She’s going to kill him. Really. She’s going to figure out how to murder a demon, and then she’s going to murder Mammon. Her door slams open and light floods into her room and she curls into her blankets, wondering if he’ll leave if she pretends to still be asleep. But he’s so loud that she heard him coming down the hallway; his stomping woke her up long before he actually got to her room.

“I’ve been messaging you!” He says, and Eleanor knows that he won’t be leaving without saying whatever it is that he wants to say.    
“I’m  _ sleeping _ ,” she groans into her pillow. “Or  _ trying _ to. What do you need?” He scoffs and tugs at her blankets, which makes her sit up and pelt one of her pillows at him. 

“The Great Mammon is offering to spend time with ya, and you aren’t jumpin’ at the chance.”

“Because it’s…” she squints at her phone, eyes still adjusting to the light. “Two in the morning! Are you  _ kidding me? _ ”

“I’m hungry,” he says, blowing off her complaints as if she hadn’t said anything at all. “You’re coming to the kitchen with me.” And he waves his hand at her like she’s a dog he’s trying to coax. 

“You just got back, didn’t you? And you don’t want Lucifer to catch you,” she accuses, and his reaction is telling enough. He stiffens and then puts his hands behind his back, shaking his head.

“That’s not what this is about! Seriously.”

She doesn’t believe him in the slightest, but still stands and steps into her slippers; since she’s awake now, she might as well watch the eventual fireworks. Besides, Lucifer’s shouting will just wake her up again when Mammon gets caught doing whatever he’s about to do. He walks with purposeful strides into the kitchen and she follows, more hesitantly. Nobody’s there. She breathes a sigh of relief.

“Oh, looks like Beel forgot his custard in here,” he says, leaning against the open fridge door. He rubs his hands together and then reaches for it while Eleanor watches, leaning against the counter. He stands back up and then looks from the custard in his hands to Eleanor, and then back to the custard.

“Hey, eat this. I need an accomplice; I’m not gonna be the only one gettin’ in trouble here.” He pulls the lid off the custard, pops a spoon into it, and then shoves it at her face. She reels back and throws her hands up, covering her mouth.

“I knew it!” She accuses from behind her hands. But he only shoves the custard into her open hands, leaving her holding it. 

“You’ve gotta be seriously brave to eat this. If you can do that, then I’ll admit you’ve got guts.” He looks at her like he knows she can’t refuse a dare, which... _ Damn it _ , she thinks. Because she can’t, really, and he knows that already. She furrows her brows and frowns at him, placing a free hand on her hip.    
“No,” she says clearly. “Look, it’s got Beel’s name on it—”

While she’s gesturing to it, he does something she hadn’t been expecting at all. Because never in a million years would she have expected him to take the spoon from the custard and pop it into her open mouth, faster than she can really track. Eleanor sputters and, because she doesn’t want to spit it on the floor, swallows the custard. It tastes off. 

“Down the hatch,” Mammon says happily. “Now you’re involved. You ate Beel’s custard, and I’m the witness.”

“You ass,” she says, wiping her mouth with her free hand. “This expired, like, two weeks ago!”

Mammon shrugs and looks back into the fridge for something else to eat, and she considers dumping the rest of the custard over his head. 

“Not like it’s gonna kill ya,” he brushes her complaints off, and Eleanor curses under her breath.  _ None of these demons know a goddamn thing about humans, do they? _

“I mean, technically, eating spoiled food  _ can _ kill a human,” she says, neglecting to mention that the most she’s likely to get from the custard is an upset stomach. But her words have the desired effect; he stands immediately and swipes the cup from her hands, holding it over his head as if she’s going to try and take it back. And then, as if karma has just decided to smile upon Eleanor, Beelzebub wanders into the kitchen.

“Aaa-h, Beel,” Mammon says, still holding the custard over his head. “What’s the big idea, sneakin’ up on me like that?”

But Beelzebub stays where he is, staring at his brother like he can murder him with his eyes alone. Eleanor takes a step away, hoping to stay out of whatever is about to happen. Because  _ something _ is about to happen, nobody coils themselves as tightly as Beelzebub is now unless they plan on moving. And quickly. 

“Did you eat my custard?” He asks, and his voice has never really been very loud, but now he’s dangerously quiet. Eleanor takes another step away

“Now, wait a second, Beel—lemme explain—there’s a good reason for—”

“You  _ did _ , didn’t you?” Beelzebub asks, not bothering to listen to Mammon’s attempt at explaining the scene. There’s a moment of silence and then  _ chaos _ as magic—or what feels to Eleanor suspiciously like what she thinks magic feels like—explodes around her. It pushes her hard back and steals the breath from her lungs, just like when Leviathan tried to attack here. 

And there Beelzebub stands in his own demonic form, horns and wings exposed as fury rolls off him.  _ Is this seriously the gentle giant I worked out with earlier? _ Because she can’t quite merge the two images. 

“You ate my custard!” Beelzebub accuses. ANd then he lunges forward, crashing into his brother—and through the wall—and into Eleanor’s room. She claps her hands over her mouth and winces as a part of the stone wall crumbles inward, and then winces again when she hears them start to fight in earnest. And just as she’s about to try and find help—from whom, she isn’t quite sure—there’s a presence at her back. 

For the second time that night, she thinks that her heart might just stop when Lucifer bellows at them to stop. They do, and she considers it something of a minor miracle. The kitchen is a total waste; an entire wall is missing, spilling into her room, which looks like a war zone.  _ Somebody _ has split her bed in half, but she can’t actually tell who the culprit is. Her boxes of meager possessions have been flattened, but the brazier remains upright. 

“You three,” Lucifer says, false calm lacing his voice. “My bedroom. Now. And be  _ quiet _ ; nobody else in this household needs to know about your foolishness.”

Eleanor  _ almost _ protests being lumped in with the demons who punched each other through a wall, but a glance from Lucifer seals her lips. Instead, she trudges all the way to his room silently, keeping her head down. 

“Explain to me what happened,” he says once they’re all assembled on the couch in Lucifer’s room. Eleanor sits wedged between the two demons, trying to take up as little space as possible.  _ Maybe, _ she thinks _ , if I’m really lucky, they’ll forget I’m here _ …

Nobody speaks up. Not until Lucifer points at Mammon and says “ _ you _ .”

“I was hungry, so I went to the kitchen lookin’ for something to eat, and then Beel came up out of nowhere and  _ attacked me _ !” Mammon explains, trying to look as believable as possible. His attempts are hampered by the elbow Eleanor drives into his ribs. 

“You ate my custard,” Beelzebub accuses. “I wrote my name on it and you still ate it.”

“I was just  _ holdin’ _ it,” Mammon protests, not sounding believable at all. “And besides, Eleanor is the one who ate it.

She shoots him a poisonous glare and decides to raid the library for books on murdering demons.

“I did. A bite,” she concedes, preparing to explain that Mammon was the entire reason she was even in the kitchen in the first place. Lucifer steps in, however, arms crossed.

“Let me get this straight. Mammon was hungry after coming back  _ after _ curfew,” he sends a pointed glare Mammon’s way and Mammon wilts slightly. “And he dragged Eleanor along with him. That’s when he found Beel’s custard, and somehow talked her into eating it. At that point, Beel arrived, saw what happened, and went on a rampage that destroyed not only the kitchen, but also Eleanor’s room. Because of a  _ prank _ .” Derision drips from every word.

“... Pretty much sums it up, yeah,” Mammon says, and Eleanor purses her lips at his continued omission. She considers elbowing him again, but Lucifer is watching so she remains still.

The resulting lecture feels like it drags on for forever, and Eleanor struggles to stay awake through it all. 

“I expect you all to learn something from this,” he finally concludes, and Eleanor has to hold in her sigh of relief. Mammon isn’t capable of the same, but Lucifer magnanimously ignores the discretion. Beelzebub’s stomach grumbles loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“Eleanor,” Lucifer turns to her, and she sits up straighter, refusing to slouch even though he makes her feel like a bug under a microscope. “It seems you won’t be able to use your room for the time being. Considering it lacks a wall. For the time being, I want you to stay in Beel’s room.”

“Uh…” Eleanor pauses, not sure where she should look. “I don’t want to put anybody out. There’s a couch in the library; I’m sure I can just—”

“Now wait just a second!” Mammon interrupts, af if he hasn’t heard her speaking at all. “Why’re ya putting her in  _ his _ room? There’s enough space in mine, isn’t there?” He leans into her slightly, and she doubts that he’s even aware he’s doing it. Lucifer rubs his forehead—just slightly, barely a touch, because he doesn’t want to show just how tired of the whole situation he is.

“Don’t be jealous over petty things, Mammon. It shows immaturity.” Lucifer sounds as tired as Eleanor feels, and she is utterly exhausted. 

“Wh-who’re you callin’  _ jealous _ ? As if I’d ever be jealous,” Mammon sputters, posturing mostly for himself. Eleanor buries her face into her hands. “Eleanor has a pact with  _ me _ ,” he continues, convinced that would settle the matter. And to solidify the claim he feels he has, he places a heavy hand on Eleanor’s head. 

“Your pact is irrelevant. Beel has an extra bed in his room, and so that is where she will be staying until her room is restored. This is not a request, Beel. In addition, I would like you both to assist Eleanor in salvaging what  _ can _ be salvaged from her room. Am I understood?”

Eleanor feels Mammon’s fingers flex in her hair and hears him growl, but keeps her gaze focused on her feet. She’s glad to hear that there’s an extra bed in Beelzebub’s room, but she’s still fine with camping out in the library until things are fixed. And she  _ certainly _ doesn’t want to have them poking around her things. 

But she leads the group—sans Lucifer— back to her catastrophe of a room to see if there is anything worth saving, which she doubts there is. There wasn’t much there to begin with. She grabs the one box that hadn’t been flattened or torn open, shrugs her shoulders and looks at both of the demons standing at her doorway. 

“Looks like that’s about it,” she says, hoping her favorite pair of jeans are in the box in her hands. 

“You never unpacked?” Beelzebub asks, indicating the two other boxes, the contents of which are shredded and scattered around her room. Eleanor shrugs again, scanning her room one more time. 

“Never got into the habit of it,” she says. “No use if you’re moving again soon, and—oh! Look, my old cell phone!” She shifts her box to her hip so she can pick the shattered device up from under her desk, where it landed in the scuffle. “I’m getting WiFi reception from a Starbucks,” she says, half to herself, watching half of the screen flicker. Beelzebub and Mammon look at each other, and Mammon shrugs.

“But you’re here for a year,” Beelzebub says, holding out his arms to take the box. Eleanor shoots him a warning smile and keeps her box, brushing between the two as they make room for her.

“It doesn’t  _ mean _ anything other than that I’m lazy,” she says with a huff, setting off in the direction of Beelzebub’s room. Beelzebub scoots ahead of her to lead the way, and Mammon falls into step behind her. 

“Y’know, you don’t  _ have _ to stay in his room,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning over her a little bit. And if he happens to brush his chin against the crown of her head, well, that’s just incidental. 

“Lucifer says that Beel has two beds in his room,” she points out, trying to keep up with Beelzebub’s long strides. “So if I have to stay anywhere, it only makes sense.” Mammon huffs at her statement and she feels his breath across the top of her head.

“Can’t believe  _ the  _ Great Mammon is offering to spend time with you and you don’t appreciate it,” he scoffs. Eleanor readjusts the box in her hands and stops when Beelzebub does. 

“I don’t have the energy to argue right now,” she complains. “Can we pick this back up when I’ve had a full night of sleep?”

He grumbles and hems and haws, but a look from Beelzebub sends him back to his own room. Eleanor sighs in relief and follows Beelzebub into his room, pausing when she sees it; she never gave much thought to anybody else’s living space, so she didn’t really have many expectations, but she hadn’t expected his to look so neat. Just as Lucifer said, there are two separate sleeping spaces. One of them, clearly Beelzebub’s, is decorated with a solar theme; the sun peeking out from behind his bed fits him, she thinks. She walks off to the right, to put her things at the foot of the purple bed decorated with moons. 

“Not that one,” Beelzebub says quietly, redirecting her with a touch to her shoulder to the left of the room. “Use my bed on the left. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

When she turns to look at him, questions on her lips, he looks unbearably sad, curling in on himself. 

“Why?” She asks, followed quickly by “seriously, I can just sleep on the couch. I’m not kicking you out of your own bed.” But he ends her protests by taking the box from her hands and dropping it on the left bed.

“It’s my twin brother’s,” he says after a long pause. “Belphegor is in the human world right now as an exchange student.” He knits his hands together and Eleanor fights the urge to try and hug him.   
“Twin?” She asks instead, sitting on his bed beside her paltry box of things. At this, Beelzebub finally brightens and offers her a small smile. It’s a welcome relief after how distraught he was earlier, and Eleanor finds herself relaxing a little more. 

“We’re total opposites,” he says, and then with a pause his expression sours again. “He was chosen to be an exchange student after a fight with Lucifer, even though he didn’t want to go. So  _ don’t _ mention his name in front of Lucifer. That’s a warning.”

Eleanor’s gaze wanders to the far side of the room, over to Belphegor’s things. 

“Can you tell me a little about him?” She asks, hoping to bring back his smile. “Nobody else has mentioned him.”

Beelzebub shakes his head. “They wouldn’t have. We’re not supposed to talk about him.” He pauses again and looks at Eleanor, then looks away again; she can’t read his expression. “We always got along; it was always me, him, and our little sister Lilith. Not that it matters,” he adds bitterly, stalking over to one of the closets and pulling out a spare blanket and pillow.

“It was a long time ago. And when he comes back, you’ll be up in the human world, so it isn’t like you’ll ever meet.”

She stares at him, thoughts all fighting for attention at once. Unbidden, her mind settles on the strange demon trapped in the attic.  _ A fight with Lucifer before suddenly disappearing? _ Her interest—and suspicion—is piqued.  _ It would be an incredible coincidence if it’s completely unrelated _ . 

“Can I see a picture of him?” She asks, and Beelzebub considers her request for a beat before pulling his D.D.D. out of his pocket, poking around at it for a moment, and then tossing it her way. She catches it in both of her hands and the photo presented to her makes her catch her breath. Beelzebub looks  _ happy _ , in a way that she hasn’t seen during her stay yet. And beside him, looking tired but just as happy, is the man from the attic.  _ Belphegor _ . 

She can put a name to the face now, and is torn between anger at being so blatantly lied to and sadness and pity for Beelzebub.  _ He doesn’t know _ , she thinks, looking from him to the photo and then back to him again.  _ Probably none of them know, except Lucifer. _ It makes her feel sick. 

“I told you we weren’t anything alike,” Beelzebub says, misinterpreting her guarded look. 

“I know,” she says, and then licks her lips nervously.  _ I can’t tell him he’s just upstairs. If he flew into a rage over custard… _ She shudders to think what might happen if he found out his beloved brother was just a few floors up. She does  _ not _ want to be the bearer of that message. “I just... “

She struggles to find words that make sense, looking everywhere around the room but at the purple side decorated in stars and crescent moons. 

“I have a lot of… siblings that I haven’t seen in a long time, too,” she settles on. “It’s not really the same thing, but… I kind of get it.” She closes her eyes and leans against his pillows, feeling exhaustion sweep over her. Thinks back to the foster sibling she’s grown the most attached to and how much it hurt when one of them was transferred out. Remembers the old emotional wounds that still sting even though they’ve scabbed over with time. 

“You have siblings?” He asks from his place on his couch; she hasn’t said too much of anything from her life before, other than small throwaway comments. She realizes with a start this is, probably, some of the first real information she’s voluntarily offered up.

“Foster kid,” she says, pointing to herself. “Lots of families and siblings but also none at all.” It’s a stupid, almost crass joke that some of her older foster siblings laughed at when they thought the younger ones couldn’t hear—but she did, and it’s stuck with her. Made her crave exactly what she didn’t have. He hums in acknowledgement, but she can’t tell if her words made any sense to him at all.

“So, your sister,” she begins, but Beelzebub cuts her off with a shake of his head that she can’t see.

“I don’t want to talk about her,” he says, ending their conversation. Eleanor presses her lips shut and rolls over, taking the blankets with her. 


	15. Ristorante Six

She sneaks away from the demons as soon as she’s able to, slipping away between classes to hide in the student council room. It is, upon first glance, empty. She slings her bag onto the table and massages her shoulder— _ somehow _ she’s ended up with half of Mammon’s books as well, and she’s not quite sure how that happened. But it’s not as if he’s going to come looking for her for them, so she takes the opportunity to relax into the silence. 

Until it’s broken.

“I didn’t expect to see you here quite so soon,” Lucifer says, hidden behind an impossibly huge stack of papers. He’s clearly working on something; the pen between his fingers taps on the table, beating out a staccato tempo.  _ Hell really is bureaucracy, _ she thinks, considering the sight.

“I just needed a little bit of quiet,” she answers, but he seems uninterested in what she has to say. Instead, he stands and walks over to her purposefully; she stands and clutches her homework to her chest, wishing it was a barrier she could hide behind. If he notices her discomfort, he doesn’t seem to mind it.

“It should go without saying,” he begins, “that the arrangement that Diavolo has with the Celestial Realm should not be discussed casually. The only beings who need to know about it are now aware of it. We don’t want anyone acting on their own motivations, do we?” 

_ The agreement that says if I get squished by a rampaging demon, everything is plunged into war? The one nobody told me about until  _ after _ I goaded Levi into almost killing me? That one? _ She wants to ask him. Instead, she purses her lips and keeps them sealed shut. She nods, and he gives her a smile that makes her feel cold.

“Good. The Devildom is no place for a human to be waltzing about, unattended and without purpose. You seem to lack awareness in that regard.”

She  _ wants _ to be offended by his words, but knows that they are, for the most part, true. Instead, she shrugs, and then watches his face do something utterly, completely  _ fascinating _ . Up until now, the only times she’s ever seen him he’s been cold, or aloof, or angry. But for a moment, just a  _ moment _ , his expression softens. So quickly that she’s not sure it even happened, but she loosens her iron grip on her coursework just the slightest bit.

“Mammon threatened to take me and Beel out tonight, for dinner.” She doesn’t add  _ on account of the kitchen being ruined _ because that is obvious; the words don’t have to be spoken. 

“Threatened?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, and Eleanor winces at her word choice.

“Well, Beel offered, and then…” she waves a free hand in front of her as if to illustrate the chaos of the morning conversation. “Mammon just sort of took over.”

“An eventful evening, then,” he finishes for her, and she nods, relieved that she doesn’t have to find her own words. “But perhaps not what you’re looking for.” There’s a question in his voice and Eleanor isn’t sure how to answer it, or even what he’s really looking for. An admission that she just wants one quiet evening? That she’s endlessly exhausted by the frenetic energy that bleeds from (most of) the demons in the House of Lamentation? Maybe. She cants her head to the side and considers him. 

“If you wish to go out and see places other than the school or the House of Lamentation, be sure to let me know. Should time permit, I would be glad to accompany you.” And there’s that smile again.  _ He has to know _ … she pauses in her thoughts, not sure how to end them. That it confuses her? That it makes her stomach do stupid little flips like she’s a nervous schoolgirl? That it puts her just ever-so-slightly on edge? 

“Okay,” she says, not sure if she’s going to ever actually take him up on the offer. It’s not that she doesn’t  _ want _ to expand her horizons, but based on the paperwork in front of him, he’ll be busy for the next foreseeable eternity. She’s not sure how he even gets it done. And there’s also that niggling little thought that tells her he’s only saying it to be polite. 

Still.

_ Might as well take advantage of the quiet _ , she thinks, setting her work back down on the table, and retrieving a pen from the depths of her bag. Thanks to the relative silence of the room—broken only by the occasional sound of pen on paper—she actually finishes her own work before anybody comes looking for her. She stretches and then stands, shoving her papers unceremoniously into her bag. 

“Should you not wait for an escort?” Lucifer asks without looking up from his paper. The pile has grown considerably smaller since the last time she looked up at him. It looks manageable now, at least. She shoulders her bag again and fiddles with the strap.

“I’m just going back to the House,” she protests. “It’s not  _ that _ far. And none of my escorts are here.” She waves her arms, illustrating the lack of demonic bodyguards at her side. 

He’s offended. She can tell that much only because he’s  _ let _ her see how offended he is, and he enjoys her palpable confusion. Lucifer smiles at her again and watches her face color slightly and then go pale.

“I will walk you back.”

“You—”

He doesn’t give her a chance to protest any further, settling in beside her. Her eyes flick between his face and the papers he’s abandoned, visibly worried. Or concerned. He hasn't bothered to study human emotions very deeply in recent history, but he knows enough to think that she looks very conflicted.

“I was working ahead; it can wait for now. Walk,” he orders, placing his hand between her shoulder blades. And to his immense pleasure, she actually does. Haltingly, at first, as if she’s afraid he’s going to do something awful, and then a little quicker, trying to evade his touch subtly. This only makes him flatten his palm against her back. 

_ Contrarian _ , he thinks, letting her escape his touch. For now. 

* * *

She doesn’t even have a chance to change from her uniform before she’s dragged out of the House by both Beelzebub and Mammon. Beelzebub shares her trepidation; Mammon seems  _ far _ too excited for his choice of restaurants to turn out well. And when he drags them both into Ristorante Six, he gut instinct is proven correct.

“I don’t think we match the dress code here, guys,” she says, eyeing the other patrons in their finery. But neither one of the demons seem to hear her; Beelzebub only looks dismayed at the menu—the price of each item isn’t even listed. Mammon, true to form, proceeds to order everything on the first page, including a bottle of cursed wine. 

“Would you talk some sense into him for me?” Beelzebub groans as their waiter tries desperately to keep up with Mammon’s order. Eleanor wrings her cloth napkin in her hands and frowns.

“Knock it off, Mammon. Beelzebub is trying to be nice, and you’re just taking advantage of the situation.” She takes care to make her voice steely and solid, like she’s speaking to a misbehaving younger sibling and not a demon that is thousands of years old by his own admission. 

“I’m cancelling our order,” Beelzebub adds, only to have Mammon pout.

“We haven’t even opened the wine yet!”

“Lucky for us,” Beelzebub grinds out as their waiter leans down to whisper something into his ear. Eleanor can’t hear the exchange, but she watches Beelzebub grow angrier and angrier as he looks at his older brother. “But it seems that  _ your _ order will go through, Mammon; you didn’t read the fine print. Again.” He taps the ridiculously tiny fine print on the menu, drawing Mammon’s attention to it. Eleanor can barely make it out in the candlelight, but she’s sure it says something about a curse. It’s Mammon’s turn to go slightly pale.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“You’re just going to have to agree to the terms, Mammon. Come on, Eleanor, we’re going somewhere else.” She’s secretly relieved to leave the fancy restaurant behind, although the idea of a curse doesn’t sit well with her. 

“Hey! No!” Mammon protests, following them as Eleanor takes Beelzebub’s offered hand and they step away from the table. He’s causing a scene, again, and Eleanor hates the stares he’s drawing. It’s one thing to draw attention on RAD’s campus where it’s mostly just other students milling about.  _ But in public? _ She thinks.

“Don’t raise your voice, Mammon. You’re embarrassing me,” Lucifer drawls. He’s just arrived, hasn’t even taken a seat yet, and is clearly irritated at having to deal with his siblings’ antics so soon. Diavolo is beside him, not looking bothered at all by the commotion.  _ He probably isn’t. Decorum doesn’t seem to matter to him _ , she thinks, considering the demon prince. At a quick motion of his hand, one of the waiters is bringing over another table to add to theirs. Eleanor doubts that this is the sort of place that reorganizes their seating arrangement on a whim for just anybody. 

“Mammon! Beel! Good evening. And Eleanor; what a coincidence!” The prince beams at them. “Though I am surprised, Beel. Here you are, in a restaurant, and yet you look so glum. This isn’t like you. Is there a problem?”

The three are silent as Diavolo smiles at them and Lucifer scowls—mostly at Mammon—waiting for an answer.

“Yes,” Beelzebub admits after a pause, and then explains the curse Mammon has walked into. Eleanor seems to be the only one at the table truly disturbed at the idea of being cursed, but, she supposes with a shudder, perhaps it’s normal for the demons. She makes a mental note to triple-check anything she reads from here on out. 

“That doesn’t seem to be much of a problem at all! Instead of cancelling your order, just sit and eat. I will cover the bill,” he says in a tone that doesn’t allow for further discussion. Lucifer looks exhausted. Beelzebub is stunned. Eleanor feels sick, and looks between all of the demons, hoping for a cue. When nobody else makes a move, she sinks back down into her chair. 

“Well!” Mammon claps his hands together and leans back in his seat. “If Lord Diavolo’s payin’, then I think I’m addin’ to our order!” He misses the warning glare from Lucifer, but Eleanor doesn’t. She nudges the menu away from her, suddenly not very hungry at all. 

“Oh, no,” Lucifer laughs maliciously. “Mammon, you’re not eating anything from here at all.” His mouth twists into a cruel smile as he orders for himself, ignoring Mammon’s squawks of protest as he hands his menu back to the waiter with an elegant flourish. There’s a lull in the conversation, and Eleanor looks up to see everyone’s eyes on her.

_ Your turn to order, dummy _ , she tells herself. But while she can read the menu, that doesn’t mean she  _ understands _ it; there are words she’s never heard of before and phrases she doesn’t know the meaning of it. She doesn’t even know if she can eat any of the offerings, or if they’re toxic to humans. 

“I don’t…” She pauses. Looks around at her table-mates as if they might have an answer hidden somewhere on their faces. “Um, surprise me?” She says to the waiter, handing her own menu over. 

“Adventurous!” Diavolo says with a tone of approval. Lucifer only narrows his eyes at Eleanor.    
“Surprise her with something  _ acceptable _ ,” Lucifer amends her order, the warning implicit in his words. The waiter looks overjoyed to be able to leave their table, and Eleanor can’t blame him. She kind of wants to run herself, even more so when their food arrives and her dish is placed in front of her. 

It’s chicken. Or at least, she  _ thinks _ it is; it’s not the color that she’s used to, being a deep, bloody-looking red. She takes an experimental bite; it doesn’t taste bad, but the texture is somewhat rubbery. 

“Cockatrice,” Lucifer says in approval, and Eleanor has to hide the fact that she’s almost choked on her mouthful behind a polite cough.  _ Those are real?! _ She examines her plate with new interest, poking at it as if she’s convinced another mythological creature might be hiding in it. 

“Perfectly safe for humans,” Lucifer adds, misreading her actions. 

Mammon complains the whole time, eventually quieting when everyone finishes up. Beelzebub asks for boxes for the rest of the food that he hasn’t touched—yet. Eleanor scoops the rest of her cockatrice into her own and slips the entire thing into her bag. 

Diavolo is, she discovers when they all leave the restaurant together, quite devoted to the demon prince aesthetic. Instead of a car, he seems to get around in a carriage drawn by skeletal horses. It looks, she decides with a suspicious glance at the shining black wood, like a Victorian-era hearse, delicately carved, its proportions tweaked slightly to allow for living passengers. There’s no driver, but that doesn’t seem to bother the horses. 

She holds her hand up to one of the horses, wondering if it can smell or see her. It reaches out, bones clacking together as it stretches without muscles. She wonders what it will feel like—if the bones will hold any warmth or not, and stretches her hand out to meet the skull.

Only to be hauled back by the collar of her jacket

And shoved in the direction of the hearse’s open door.

“Stupid,” Mammon spits out. “That thing’ll snap off your fingers as soon as look at ya.” She looks back at the horse as she’s shoved towards the little iron step into the carriage. The horse is still stretched out, as if looking for her—only now she can see its flat teeth gnashing, as if trying to remember the sensation of human flesh. She blanches and looks down at her fingers, which are mercifully still attached to her hand. 

“Oh. Thanks.”

She sits between two demons on the way back, trying not to feel squished in her seat. Lucifer and Diavolo, she notes, seem to have much more room on the seat across from her. But the horses move at breakneck speed through the streets, even without a driver ( _ or perhaps  _ because _ there is no driver? _ She wonders) and so they are back at the House of Lamentation shortly. Eleanor only feels a little sick from the journey, and isn’t ashamed to admit that she needs help climbing down from the carriage. That it comes from Mammon is only a little surprising; Lucifer is speaking with Diavolo, and Beelzebub is already inside. She takes his hand and hops the few feet down to the ground, clutching her bag to her side to keep from jostling its contents too much. Lucifer is still distracted when she glances over at him, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

“Follow me,” she orders Mammon, not waiting to see if he’s actually followed her. She walks into the House of Lamentation as quickly as she dares, making sure not to draw the attention of the demon prince or Lucifer. It isn’t until they’re well within the House’s walls and away from any windows that she stops and opens her bag.

“If Lucifer finds out about this, I’ll tell him you stole it,” she cautions Mammon as she hands him her leftovers. When he doesn’t move to take them, she shoves them into his hands. “And I know, I know, you’re too good for human scraps and blah, blah, blah. I just don’t like seeing food withheld as punishment.” Her smile is tight and forced; she can feel it on her face and is sure it’s more of a grimace than anything even remotely comforting. He squints at her and then at the takeout box as if there’s something lurking in it beyond just food. 

“Promise I didn’t poison it while nobody was looking,” she says, and at that he scoffs.

“As if any poison  _ you _ could come up with would even come close to hurting me.”

_ That’s more like it _ , she thinks with a roll of her eyes. 

“Yeah, okay. Just don’t let Lucifer find out, because I like not being a rug in the library.” She backs away from him and then heads directly to Beelzebub’s room, where she’s pretty sure he won’t follow her. And she’s right, which means that it’s much easier to crawl into her fluffy lounge pants and the biggest sweatshirt she can find. 

She’s almost— _ almost _ —asleep when her phone chimes with a new message. And then chimes again. She rolls over with a groan and an apology to Beelzebub, only to see frantic messages from Luke begging her to go downstairs to the side entrance.  _ If it was anyone else _ … She sighs internally and pads out of the room in her bare feet, sneaking down the stairs. Diavolo and Lucifer have long since gone, but it can’t hurt to use extra caution, she tells herself.

“Luke,” she whispers from the doorway. The angel looks lost and confused and, more than anything, scared. 

“You came!” He says, loud enough to make Eleanor wince. “I was worried. I don’t know what I’d do if someone saw me hanging out… here.” He looks around, eyeing the crows in the bare trees and the steep roof of the house. 

“Are you okay?” She asks, and then reaches out to pull him into a hug when his eyes well up with tears. She’s used to playing the older sister to scared little kids; she just never thought one of them would be an angel, of all things.

“Can I stay in your room tonight? Pleeease? I’m begging you.” He looks up at her with his wide eyes and she rubs the side of her neck nervously. Should she tell him that she doesn’t  _ have _ a room at the moment? But he blinks back another wave of tears and she feels her resolve breaking.

“Of course. Follow me, and just… keep it down, okay? I don’t think everyone else has gone to bed yet.” His smile is like sunlight, and she grabs his hand and leads him upstairs. To Beelzebub’s room.

It’s clearly not hers, and he crosses his arms over his chest petulantly. She waves to Beelzebub and mouths “I’m sorry” to him while Luke’s back is turned. 

“This isn’t what I asked for,” the angels says, turning to face her. “I believe I asked to stay in  _ your _ room, so why are we in Beelzebub’s?” There’s a note of derision in his voice that Eleanor doesn’t like. She marches him further inside Beelzebub’s room and motions for him to lower his voice.

“Nobody can use Eleanor’s room right now. It got… Broken. So we’re sharing for now under Lucifer’s orders.” Luke gasps, scandalized, and turns to look at Eleanor as if seeing her for the first time. 

“You’re  _ sharing a room  _ with a  _ demon? _ ” He asks. 

“I don’t remember asking anyone to pick up a  _ dog _ from the street and bring it back  _ here _ . Especially not one that doesn’t stop barking.” Beelzebub looks at Luke pointedly and then focuses on Eleanor; it’s her turn to look sheepish. She knows that inviting the angel—particularly  _ this _ angel—to someone else’s room didn’t make her the best roommate ever. 

“Turns out I have a hard time saying no,” Eleanor says. 

“I came here of my own free will,” Luke sniffs, steamrolling Eleanor’s half-apology. Beelzebub groans and rubs his face in frustration before reaching for something under his couch. He tosses it to Luke, who just barely manages to catch it. The angel looks at it as if the juice box might sprout fangs.

“It’s pomegranate juice,” Beelzebub cuts off Luke’s question before the angel can even ask it. Luke considers the juice again and then punches the straw through the box, taking a hesitant sip.    
“Did something happen between you and Simeon?” Eleanor asks, hoping to speed the conversation along. The sooner they can get to the root of Luke’s problems, then the sooner the angel can go back to Purgatory Hall. At least, that’s what she hopes. But her question only makes Luke look down at his shoes and frown.

“It’s all his fault. He’s getting way too chummy with these demons. We’re angels! Proud inhabitants of the Celestial Realm, and we report directly to the Archangel Michael himself! But we’re here with  _ demons _ , running the risk of getting corrupted. Even just having to talk to one makes me feel sick.”

Eleanor isn’t sure if she wants to shake sense into Luke or not, so she settles for putting both of her hands on his shoulders. “Luke…” she says as a warning, noting how put-out by the angel’s tirade Beelzebub is. But like most of the people around her, he ignores her.

“And Simeon just goes off to have tea with Diavolo, even though I warn him about the dangers.  _ And _ he even suggested that I ask Barbatos to instruct me in the finer points of baking pastries and cakes! Can you believe it? I could disappear off the face of the earth and he wouldn’t care.”

“So this is about being jealous,” Beelzebub says, but Luke ignores him. The angel’s face is red and he looks like he might cry again. 

“I told Simeon we weren’t friends anymore, and then I left Purgatory Hall, so I can’t go back now! Which is why I'm asking you to let me stay here.” He looks up at Eleanor, clearly still ignoring that it’s Beelzebub’s room. She isn’t sure what she should say, but Beelzebub saves her by speaking up. 

“You want to stay here, even though you hate demons?”

Luke’s face crumples again. “What choice do I have? This is the only place I could think of to go.” 

Eleanor’s words feel stuck in her throat; she looks over to Beelzebub, who only sighs again.

“You can stay here, Luke. For a little while. Just make sure that my brothers don't find out about you.”

“I can? Thank you!” And the angel surprises Eleanor by actually turning to address Beelzebub, offering him a wide, bright smile. Eleanor glances at Beelzebub, worried. 

_ This is not going to go well _ , she predicts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I am very aware of the height chart that the devs published. But no. It's a lie. Luke is babey. He is child-sized and I want to give him a cup of hot cocoa and a little plushie.


	16. Stand Up

The morning is strained. She pokes at her breakfast, pushing most of it around on her plate, remembering the specific requirements Luke listed for his food.  _ Should have told him to just get something at the cafeteria _ , she thinks with a frown, resting her chin in her hand. It would be easier than trying to sneak food back to Beel’s room now that she has five other pairs of eyes on her. Even Beelzebub isn’t eating with his normal gusto, which draws more concerned looks.

“What’s the deal here?” Mammon asks, leaning over to shake her shoulder. “Is that all you’re gonna eat? If you don’t eat a proper breakfast, you’ll run outta gas before lunchtime, and then you’ll be beggin’ me to carry all your stuff around, and then I’ll have to carry  _ you _ around…” He pauses when she just looks at him and rolls her eyes but doesn’t otherwise say anything. And  _ that _ , well. That worries him. Just a little.

“Are you feelin’ sick? Is that it?”

“Why, are you worried about me?” She asks, making a point to stab her eggs with her fork. She doesn’t mean it because she knows that  _ he _ doesn’t mean it, and that is what fuels her aggression. It’s tiring, being reminded that she’s a gross human all of the time, she realizes. And even if it’s just to save, face, she doesn’t particularly feel like dealing with it this morning. 

“N-no,” Mammon stammers, releasing her shoulder like she’s just scalded him. “Why would I care if you got sick? G-go cry about it to someone who cares, dummy!”

She looks up at the ceiling and counts back from ten silently.

“You’re  _ so _ desperate to deny that you care. It’s embarrassing, frankly, to be around you,” Asmodeus points out, but Eleanor doesn’t hear him or Mammon’s next denials because she’s considering, again, how tired she is. Luke reminds her so much of one of her foster brothers that it hurts. She can feel the fuzzy pain in her chest, and…

“Maybe I’m homesick,” she muses.  _ But not really for a place. More like I’m… personsick, _ she thinks, but does not verbalize her amendment. She misses family. She misses camaraderie. She misses feeling like she belongs somewhere, even if only for a little while. And the demon brothers’ bickering sounds, for the most part, like family. But not her family; she is more aware than ever that she’s an outsider. A  _ temporary _ outsider at that. At most, she’ll be there for a year, and then she’ll leave and try and pick up on her own life and while  _ she’ll _ never forget her stay in the Devildom, she’s sure that they will. The thought stings, and she’s not sure why. 

“You must miss the human world,” Asmodeus agrees with her, reaching across the table to pat her hand. 

“Please. You think she’s really the type to get homesick?” Mammon laughs and she’s about to turn all of her hurt and anger on him, exactly like she knows she shouldn’t, when Beelzebub stands suddenly.

“I’ve had enough for now,” he says, drawing all attention his way. Chaos erupts amongst the other brothers as they clamor to find a reason for his sudden lack of appetite, and their attention is so focused on him that nobody notices when she slips away. Her untouched breakfast in hand, she makes her way back to Beelzebub’s room to collect Luke.  _ Maybe if we’re lucky, we can get him to class with nobody noticing… _

Except the angel is definitely  _ not _ where they left him last, safe and hidden in Beelzebub’s room. She feels Beelzebub’s presence as he comes up behind her, having extricated himself from his brothers, watching the angel dart around from room to room.

“Luke! You can’t just leave my room whenever you want!” Beelzebub is right; if it had been anybody but them to ascend the stairs, then they would have to come up with a good reason as to why the angel was wandering around the House of Lamentation.

“I’ve been cooped up in that room for  _ hours _ ,” Luke says, sounding agonized. He doesn’t stop in his movement, either, darting from room to room and touching  _ everything _ . Exactly like a little kid. The idea only makes Eleanor feel worse.

“Breakfast,” she says. “But you can only have it if you’re inside Beel’s room within the next thirty seconds. I got you pastries, too.”

It’s the pastries that Luke seems to care about the most; he skips into Beelzebub’s room without any further hesitation and happily takes the plate of food. 

“You have the heart of an angel,” he says, cramming a pastry into his mouth. Eleanor only hums and slides books into her bag while Beelzebub waits, agitated, at the door.  _ I’ll make it up to you _ , she mouths across the room to him.  _ Lunch? _ At that, he brightens just the slightest bit.

* * *

“I wish you could have seen these demons when they were in the Celestial Realm,” Luke says while Eleanor is trying to focus on her homework. The angel was cute, at first, but his constant curiosity is starting to grate on her nerves. She’s had to pull him away from Belphegor’s side of the room a few times, now; she’s sure that Beelzebub doesn’t want the angel rifling through his twin’s things. She’s about to remind him that  _ he _ has coursework, too, when Beelzebub bursts through his door.

“We’re about to be found out,” he says, looking at Luke and then everywhere else around his room. “We’re having a surprise inspection because  _ someone _ disturbed something in someone else’s room and it didn’t go unnoticed.” Eleanor blanches, but Luke still hasn’t seemed to grasp the fact that he’s in danger.

“Surprise inspections? We don’t have anything like that at Purgatory Hall.” The angel wrinkles his nose, thinking that surely, angels were better behaved than demons and didn’t  _ need _ surprise inspections. 

“You don’t have Lucifer living with you,” Beelzebub points out while Eleanor is busy shoving Luke’s things under Beelzebub’s bed. Lucifer will absolutely pick up on the extra homework strewn around the low table, and she doesn’t want to give him any extra ammunition.  _ Not that he  _ needs _ any more _ , she huffs. 

“Go. Hide in the closet,” Beelzebub points to Belphegor’s closet on the other side of the room. “It’s probably useless, but it’s the best shot we have right now.” And before the angel can protest, Beelzebub picks him bodily up and deposits him between the clothes hanging on the rack. “And be  _ quiet _ ,” the demon urges.

Beelzebub barely has time to step back from Luke’s hiding space before Lucifer throws open the bedroom door, blocking the only exit. 

“Beel. Eleanor. I see that you’re both here for inspection. Before I begin, is there anything you’d like to tell me?” It’s a threat. Eleanor drums her fingertips against the table she’s sitting at in a conscious effort not to sweep back her hair with her hand. Beelzebub looks at her as if expecting her to wordsmith her way out of their problem.

“Not particularly, no. Just homework happening here.” She waves her hand lazily at her bag and scattered papers. Lucifer’s expression does not change, and she knows she’s done for. 

“I see,” he says icily. “Beel, open up that closet.” He’s pointing to Belphegor’s closet, and Eleanor wonders how quickly Luke can run because she knows that  _ she _ can’t outrun an angry demon. Besides, Lucifer is blocking the only exit out. 

“It’s just Belphie’s clothes—”

“Did you not hear me? Open it.”

And Eleanor  _ swears _ that she sees the air around Lucifer shimmer, feels the air in the room drop a degree or two. She’s grateful that her heaviest sweater survived the massacre in her bedroom, but even that isn’t doing much against his cold anger. Beelzebub casts her one more desperate look, as if she can do anything against the rising tide of his brother’s anger, before he opens the closet.

It’s empty. She tries not to stare at the place she last saw Luke for too long, just in case Lucifer notices. 

“It seems that I was misinformed,” Lucifer says, looking at his brother and the human appraisingly. “As you were, then. Make sure you go to bed early.” 

She bristles at his order but keeps it from showing too plainly on her face, only nodding instead. As soon as Lucifer shuts the door behind him she groans and leans back onto the floor so that she’s staring up at the ceiling. From her vantage point, she can hear Beelzebub close and then open the closet door a few more times, as if Luke might suddenly appear. 

“He was just there,” Beelzebub says, still not believing the angel’s disappearing trick. Eleanor presses a spare pillow over her face and groans into it, drowning out her frustration. Beelzebub opens and closes the closet a few more times for good measure before sitting beside Eleanor. 

“Which one of your brothers do you think was the snitch?” She asks, still holding the pillow over her face. Beelzebub only shrugs and tugs the pillow from her head.   
“Could be any one of them,” he admits. “Or none; Lucifer just sometimes knows things.”

This makes Eleanor sit up and scowl at the door.  _ Of course he does _ .

“Think we should go looking for him?” She asks, wondering how much trouble they’d be in if Lucifer caught them wandering around.  _ Probably a lot _ , she admits to herself. 

“Wherever he is, he’ll keep his head down until it’s safe to come back,” Beelzebub says, trying to convince himself as much as he is Eleanor. “If he doesn’t show up tonight, we’ll look for him tomorrow.”

Luke does not show up that evening. Or in the morning, when Eleanor hangs at the back of the group before class, hoping that the angel will take the opportunity to run up to her while the brothers are distracted. Beelzebub scans the RAD hallways, using his height to his advantage, but every time Eleanor looks at him hopefully, he can only shake his head.

“We’re so boned,” she moans to him in between classes, and her self-pitying tirade is broken only when Beelzebub elbows her and motions towards Simeon. Who is approaching them.  _ Shit _ , Eleanor thinks.  _ He probably knows that we’ve lost Luke _ .

“Hello Beelzebub, Eleanor,” Simeon says, nodding his head to the demon and human in turn. “You’re both looking after Luke for now, right? I wanted to thank you, and I hope he isn’t causing too much trouble for you; he can be quite the handful.”

Eleanor only laughs, quick, staccato barks that do nothing to hide her anxiety. But Simeon only smiles gently at her while Beelzebub nudges her back.  _ Shut up _ , she thinks he hears him mumble to her. 

“Luke is young and immature as angels go, and I’m afraid he hasn’t yet learned to see things from someone else’s point of view. But I would appreciate it greatly if you both could look after him until he’s ready to come back. Perhaps he’ll expand his perspective while he’s away from me.”

“Yeah!” Eleanor says, earning her another light jab from Beelzebub. “No problem! I mean, we’ll look after him, totally.” Simeon only inclines his head with a smile and collects his things before walking away. She groans and runs both of her hands through her hair, only barely resisting tearing at it in frustration.

“We’d better track Luke down,” Beelzebub says, looking worried again. “Now.”

There isn’t much else to say or do, really; Eleanor skips her last class and they both head back to the House of Lamentation. He suggests that she start at the bottom and he start at the top floor, so that they can meet in the middle in their search for the wayward angel. Seeing no reason to disagree (the farther away she can be from the attic, the happier she is) she agrees.

But Luke isn’t in the main hall, and he isn’t in the planetarium or the music room or anywhere else she looks. 

She meets Beelzebub in the hallway outside of Lucifer’s room, having exhausted her other options. They both agree that Luke would have been found by now if he was in one of the brothers’ rooms, which doesn’t leave too many other places to look. She leans against the wall across from Beelzebub and stares at the wallpaper.

“There’s nowhere else to look,” he says, looking even more worried than he had that afternoon; Eleanor hadn’t thought that possible. 

“I know,” she says, squinting at the wall. It looks almost… shimmery, like the door hiding Belphegor did before she got closer. She rubs her eyes and leans the back of her head against the wall, looking upwards.  _ I’m too tired for this _ , she complains to herself.

“There’s nowhere else that you can think of to look?” Beelzebub shakes his head at her question.   
“Nowhere an angel can get to,” he says, and Eleanor looks at him before her eyes slide back over to the patch of barely-shimmering wallpaper. There’s… something about it, like it keeps forcing her gaze to it. Her hands skim over it, but it doesn’t feel any different.

“What are you doing?” Beelzebub asks, almost concerned that the human has finally lost her composure. Eleanor just shakes her head as if trying to clear her vision.

“There’s something here, but I can’t read it.” She bites her lower lip and then traces one of the shimmers. “It looks like writing, but I can’t read it. If I trace it, do you think you can?”

He doesn’t see what it has to do with finding the angel, but there’s a determined glint in her eye that tells him she’s not likely to let it go.

“Sure,” he eventually says, watching her hands ghost over the wallpaper. She does her best, but it’s almost difficult to look at the shimmering letters and she feels a headache blooming behind her eyes. They’re both sure that she’s missed a few, but Beelzebub is confident enough in his translation. 

“When the morning star dwelt in the heavens, its light shone down upon this once, sparkling brilliantly, the eighth of the eight.” He thinks on the words, frowning. “Lucifer is the morning star, and the eighth of us was…” 

Eleanor turns to look at him, cradling her forehead in her hands.    
“Lilith. Our sister,” he says, and then like a dam breaking something snaps around them, long-stable magic shuddering and loosening, opening up the wall Eleanor is leaning on. She stumbles in backwards, catching her fall on the hand of the door that has materialized in front of her. The room lights itself when Beelzebub steps in, illuminating a disused room; drop cloths cover the furniture, but there are fresh flowers in a vase over the fireplace.  _ Somebody has been here _ , Eleanor thinks, running a finger along the decorative handrail on the wall.  _ It’s not even dusty. _

“I know this place,” says Beelzebub, standing and staring at the paintings, the chandelier, the windows that don’t actually exist on the outside. “It’s Lilith’s room, from the Celestial Realm. Or a copy of it, at least. What’s it doing  _ here? _ ”

The search for Luke is forgotten; the spell the room is weaving works its way over Beelzebub. He looks closer to tears than Eleanor has ever seen him as he reaches out to touch one of the flowers tucked away in the vase. 

“Can you tell me about her?” Eleanor’s voice is small, kept low and as unobtrusive as possible. He remains quiet for so long that she starts to think he’s ignored or hasn’t heard her question, and she looks around the room again as if it will tell her itself.

“She was our little sister. She died. In the Great Celestial War.” A muscle in his jaw twitches. “We were all angels, originally. But then Lucifer incited a rebellion, and when we lost, our father cast us out of heaven. Lilith… Didn’t make it. During the battle, I had a choice; I could save either Belphie or Lilith, but not both, and I… I chose Belphie.” He looks right through Eleanor, like she isn’t even there, and she can see the memories flickering behind his eyes. She reaches out hesitantly, her hand hovering above one of his.

“She died, and it was my fault.”

Eleanor’s throat feels thick and before she can think better of it, she reaches out. Grabs his hand. Pulls him into a hug, which he allows, if only because it means that she won’t see the tears collecting in his eyes. 

“It’s not your fault,” she murmurs into his shirt. She can’t tell if he’s shaking, or it’s her, or it’s both of them, so she grabs him tighter.

“That’s what everyone says, but they weren’t there. They didn’t see the despair and horror on Lilith’s face when she was shot, or the way Belphie looked at me like he’d rather I’d saved her. He blames me. I know he does.”

This makes her lean back and look up at him, and he’s surprised at the fury he sees in her eyes. It makes him grab her upper arms like he’s afraid she might dash away or start throwing things.

“Well, he’s wrong,” she says forcefully, balling her hands into fists around his shirt. “If he actually thinks that, then  _ he’s wrong _ .” And she doesn’t add  _ I’ll kick his ass myself _ because Beelzebub looks too raw, too vulnerable. She releases his shirt, but he doesn’t let go of her arms.

“It feels like I’m losing him, too,” Beelzebub confesses, and watches as Eleanor’s face steels, morphs into something introspective.  _ I can fix this _ , she thinks, trying to read his expression.  _ Belphegor is right upstairs, and I can fix this. He said I just needed to make pacts with everyone _ … Which will be impossible, she thinks, if they all know her reasoning behind it. Lucifer, certainly, will not make a pact with her if he knows she’s only doing it to free the brother he’s locked up in the attic. 

“You’re not losing him,” she promises Beelzebub. Promises herself.  _ I’ll fix this _ . 

Whatever Beelzebub is about to say is drowned out by her phone ringing, breaking whatever spell the room cast on them both. Eleanor jumps and fishes her phone out of her pocket.

“Tomb. Now,” Mammon says without preamble. “Lucifer has your pet dog, and he’s gonna kill him.” The line goes dead, and Eleanor turns to look at Beelzebub with wide eyes.

“Luke,” they say at the same time, both scrambling to leave the room. Knowing that she doesn’t know where the tomb is, and wouldn’t be able to keep up besides, Beelzebub hauls her off her feet and tucks her under one of his arms, much in the same way he had Luke the evening prior. This time, Eleanor doesn’t feel indignant over the treatment; time is of the essence. Instead, she tries to remember all of the turns he takes and the secret panel he leans on to open the tomb. 

It’s Mammon’s voice that she hears first, echoing through the stone pillars and vaulted cathedral ceilings. 

“He’s just a little lost dog, that’s all!” He’s shouting, a wary tone running through his voice. “There’s no need to go gettin’ yourself all worked up over it and revealing your true form!”

Beelzebub skids to a stop, and Eleanor has enough time to scramble back to her feet and brush the hair out of her eyes before Luke speaks.

“I-I’m not sc-scared of you or a-anything!” The angel protests, trying to hide behind Mammon who clearly does  _ not _ want to be the barrier between the angel and his oldest brother. “I-I’ll have you know that I r-report directly to the Archangel Michael, a-and—”

But Lucifer only takes a threatening step forward, making the angel shrink back.    
“Give me the grimoire,” Lucifer snarls. “I won’t have an angel touch it.” He holds out a gloved hand for the book, but Luke is frozen in fear and seems to have forgotten the object in his hands entirely. 

“I don’t know what that is!” The angel wails as Eleanor shuffles up behind him and tugs him backwards, away from the enraged demon. “I don’t even know how I got here! One moment I”m in Beelzebub’s room, and the next—”

Eleanor feels Beelzebub stiffen behind her at his name, and she feels the bottom of her own stomach drop out.  _ Not good, not good, not good _ . She glances around her, looking for some sort of escape, anything to get her away from Lucifer and the way he’s staring at all three of them like he wants to tear their souls to shreds.

“ _ Beelzebub _ ,” he snarls, and Eleanor flinches at his voice. The little flames in the candelabra above them gutter in a wind she can’t feel. “You gave this angel access to the House of Lamentation and our grimoire?” His voice is quieter now. Softer, but still edged with anger in a way that makes Eleanor shake.

“I wasn’t trying to steal—”

Eleanor claps a hand over Luke’s mouth and hugs him closer to her.  _ Please don’t say anything, Luke, don’t draw attention _ —

“I hope you two are prepared to face the consequences.”

Slick dread works its way through her veins and her hand over Luke’s mouth trembles. She can feel him shaking, too, and the way that Beelzebub tries to make himself a smaller target behind her. Something snaps.

“Don’t you dare,” she snarls, even though it’s difficult for her to speak through her fear. She’s shoved Luke behind her— _ when did I do that? _ she wonders—and can feel him clutching the back of her blouse. Lucifer pauses for the briefest of moments before taking another step her way, and Eleanor has to force herself to breathe. 

“Stand down, human. Or would you prefer to die here?” His question is accompanied by a cruel little smile that tells her exactly what he thinks will happen; he thinks she’ll be scared into submission, that she’ll step away and let him exact his wrath on Luke and Beelzebub. She grits her teeth and shakes her head, careful not to break eye contact with Lucifer.

He is furious, and it rolls off him. 

“Insolent little chit,” he snarls back, taking another step forward. Eleanor draws herself up to her full height and sets her jaw. It is not an intimidating look, not when there’s a small angel curling into the small of her back and crying, not when her hair is tangled from the run down to the tomb. But she’s refusing to move, and that galls him. 

“He’s gonna kill you for real!” Mammon says, as Beelzebub tugs ineffectively on her shoulder. 

“He’s gonna have to try harder, then,” she says, still refusing to blink at Lucifer. “Because I’m still standing here.”

And this—this gives him pause. He tilts his head at her, patronizingly, and smiles in a way that lets her know he’d like nothing more than to rip her head from her neck.

“How sweet. A human thinking she can protect an angel and a demon.  _ Stand down _ ,” he says, letting power ooze into his last two words, knowing that lesser beings cannot resist his charms. He is gratified to see her expression flicker for the briefest of moments as the magic begins to work. “Choose one to save, or stand down.”

But she furrows her brows again and throws her arms wide, obscuring Luke and as much of Beelzebub as she can from view.

“No.”

And it’s then that her vision goes dark, leaving nothing but him in all of his glory. Shapes twist in the blackness behind him, dark little voids in the already dark nothingness and she can  _ feel _ him in her mind, turning over memories, passing by thoughts, searching for the thing that will make her bend to his will. Sick terror seizes her. 

“Get out of my head,” she grinds out, forcing the words through her teeth even though it feels like he’s reached directly into her head and given her a good shove, shaking things loose. She tries opening her eyes to look at him and views him as if underwater. 

_ “Save her,” she thinks she hears him say, pleading with someone she can’t see because she’s burning and her wing is on fire _ —

… Wing?

“Get.  _ Out! _ ” Eleanor shouts, clutching her head, and he’s close enough for her to shove away. She feels her nails scrape against his waistcoat and then buttons and then at empty air. There’s a snap of blinding bright white, and then—

Nothing. 


	17. Agreement

Her head  _ hurts _ , like something inside is trying to claw its way out. If she’s quiet enough and stills her breathing, she can hear her heartbeat echo, feel the rush of blood in her ears. Her limbs feel weighed down, but she can move them if she tries.

And she tries.

“Eleanor?” Someone calls her name, but her heartbeat is too loud in her own ears for her to figure out who it is. “Come back to me, Eleanor.” The person speaking smooths the hair away from her face and she leans into the touch. Her movement reminds her that the sheets on the bed don’t feel familiar, the bed doesn’t smell like hers.

“‘M up,” she mumbles, cracking open one of her eyes. The lights have been dimmed so that she can barely see anything, but there’s no mistaking the hulking shape beside her. 

“Beelzebub?”

  
“You’re awake. Good. I thought you might never wake up; humans are so fragile.” He smiles down at her, relief etched into his face. She sits up and rubs the side of her head, wincing when her fingertips brush against a sore spot. There’s a little lump, like she;s hit her head against something. She presses against it experimentally and hisses in pain.

“Do you remember what happened?” He pulls her hand away from her head and holds it in his own, as if afraid she’s going to do more damage in cataloguing her injuries. She shakes her head and immediately regrets the movement.

“You made Lucifer  _ really _ angry when you stepped in front of Luke and me. He tried to compel you, but you wouldn’t back away; it almost got you killed, Eleanor.”

She remembers bits and pieces of it—Luke hiding behind her back, Lucifer’s wings… And then his eyes, the ones that seemed to bore right into her soul. And the darkness that made her feel like she’d never escape it. The memory of it makes her shudder. 

“You saw how angry Lucifer was and you  _ still  _ stepped in and tried to block him. If Lord Diavolo hadn’t intervened, you would be dead right now, there’s no doubt.”

“I should thank him, then,” she says, looking down at the way their hands intertwine. “Were you hurt at all? Is Luke okay? I don’t—”

“I’m fine.” He interrupts her. “We’re fine; but should you really be worrying about that? You almost died because you— _ a human _ —tried to shield a demon. I’ve never heard of anything like that before. Luke went back with Simeon to Purgatory Hall,” Beelzebub adds as an afterthought, searching her face as if looking for an answer to a question he hasn’t asked. She squeezes his hand in return. 

“Why would you do that, anyway? It was my fault we were in that whole situation, that you were in danger. But  _ you _ were prepared to take the brunt of Lucifer’s anger, even though you’re not an angel, or a demon. You don’t even have magic.” He starts to squeeze her hand back but then drops it, as if she’s made of fragile glass that he might break. 

“You’re my friends,” she says. “I didn’t think too hard about it, honestly.” He leans back and considers her, curled up in his bed.

“Friends, hm?” He reaches out and cups the dies of her face with his hand. “I watched you there, while you were sleeping, and I couldn’t help but to wonder… If the situation had been reversed, would I have stepped in to defend you?”

He looks like not even he knows the answer.  _ I don’t know how to answer that _ , she thinks, and settles for just looking at him. A beat of silence passes between the two.

“I want to make it up to you, somehow. Is there anything that I can do for you?” His thumb brushes against her cheek, right under her eye, and she’s afraid for a moment that she’s shed a tear. But her face feels dry and she closes her eyes. 

_ I want another hug. Or…  _ She doesn’t let herself finish the thought, but instead says “please make a pact with me.” Because he’s almost  _ too _ kind and she can’t bring herself to take advantage of him, but this—bringing his brother back, trying to patch up the family rift that’s developed—this, she can do. Even if it breaks her heart a little bit, the way he reels back as if she’s slapped him. 

“A pact? Why are you so interested in making pacts with demons, huh?” She opens her eyes to see him shaking his head at her, frowning. “I want to hear why you want a pact with me, first.”

“I want…” Her throat feels too dry. “I want Lucifer to listen to me, so that he’ll let me help him make up with Belphegor. So you can be a family again.”  _ I just want to do one good thing _ , she doesn’t tell him. 

He considers her request, which she counts as a good thing, but he doesn’t look any happier about it, which she thinks is a bad thing. 

“And you think that if you form pacts with his brothers, he’ll listen to you?”

She had really been hoping that he wouldn’t pick apart her excuse the way he is now. It doesn’t sound like a solid plan at all, in his voice, and she thinks she’s sunk.

“When you say it like that—”

“Alright,” he interrupts. “I want Belphegor and Lucifer to make up, too. So I’ll do it; I’ll form a pact with you.”

For a moment, she’s not sure she’s heard him correctly. He just seemed so disappointed in her request—even if, she thinks bitterly, it’s more for him than it is for her—that she’s thrown off guard by his brilliant smile and the way he folds her into his arms. There’s a brief flash of heat against her right hand that feels like sunlight. When she looks, there’s a coppery ring where the heat had been, glinting in the low light. 

“You should probably go and thank Diavolo for saving you,” Beelzebub says after another moment, releasing her. “He’s probably with Lucifer in his office.”

Eleanor nods and makes her way out of his room carefully, pausing when she thinks she needs to. Most of the danger has passed, since she woke up, but she still feels unsteady on her feet and doesn’t want to risk falling. Luckily enough for her, Diavolo finds her before she even makes it to Lucifer’s office, as if tipped off to her approach.  _ Which,  _ she thinks,  _ might actually have been the case. _ He holds his arms open wide as if seeking to give her a hug.

Eleanor remains safely against the wall, where she’s leaning.

“So good to see you!” He says. “You gave us all quite the scare, there.” His unrelenting cheer almost unnerves her; while she’s mostly sure that he’s pleased she didn’t die, she also gets the feeling that the demon prince is enjoying the chaos. 

“Turns out I just needed a good nap,” she replies cheekily. But then she sobers and looks at him seriously. “I wanted to thank you. Beelzebub said that you came in and stopped Lucifer. Before… you know.” She draws her thumb across her neck and sticks her tongue out for dramatic effect. Diavolo only laughs as if she’s told the world’s most hilarious joke.

“Lucifer will make it up to me; he didn’t  _ really _ want to lose his composure like that, you see. The angel Luke had his family’s grimoire. Do you know what a grimoire is?”

_ Of course I don’t _ , she wants to tell him, but he’s being kind and helping her to avoid Lucifer, so she only shakes her head as an answer. 

“Grimoires hold the seat of a demon’s power. Our hearts, in a way. That particular one belongs to Lucifer and his brothers.”

“Oh,” Eleanor says, because she’s not sure what else to do.  _ If everyone would just  _ tell me _ the things I need to know, then maybe these things wouldn’t keep happening _ , she wants to tell the prince. But she keeps her lips shut and breaks the eye contact she’s been holding.

“Yes, they’re very important. But, Eleanor, I am  _ far _ more interested in the fact that you were able to resist Lucifer’s compulsion! Terribly exciting. How did you do it?”

“I… don’t know?” She says. It’s the truth. She barely remembers the event at all, let alone how she did one specific thing, and certainly not well enough to satisfy the demon prince’s curiosity. But he doesn’t look as if he’s waiting for an actual answer. 

“I’m sure we’ll all find out soon enough! Now, don’t you have somewhere to be?” And his look is so  _ knowing _ that she’s certain her intentions are written on her forehead.

“I do,” she acknowledges nervously. 

“Excellent. Now, I have a few last-minute things to sort out with Lucifer. You’re excused.” He leaves her with another smile, and Eleanor rubs her head, half wondering if it’s all some sort of concussion dream. But Diavolo so much as told her that Lucifer will be distracted for the time being… Her eyes wander upwards. Towards the attic.

Belphegor is sleeping when she ascends the stairs, but wakes when she knocks on the wall beside the door. She steps away quickly, ensuring that she’s out of his reach even if he was able to reach through the door. He stares at her and she stares back.

“Belphegor,” she says his name with a sharp, angry smile, one that tells him she isn’t pleased at all. He looks surprised only for a moment before he offers her an easy smile. She doesn’t respond other than to cross her legs in front of her, resting her back against the wall. 

“You’re no fun at all, you know that? But I suppose now that you know who I am, we can do away with the pretense.”

“I never had the pretense,” she points out, a single eyebrow raised. “But remind me, again, why it is you’re up here? What you’ll do  _ if _ I were to help release you?” She’s already decided to help, but not because of him. But she doesn’t mind letting him dangle for a little bit. “The truth, this time,” she adds as a warning. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard this from my brothers already,” he nods towards the rings on her hands. If he notices the newest addition, he doesn’t say anything. “Lucifer and I had something of a disagreement. A little misunderstanding, really; I’m sure if we could talk it out, then he would realize the mistake and we can make up. So really, all I need is for you to help me get out and to make him listen to me. That is  _ all _ I want.”

“And you need  _ me _ to make pacts with your brothers—without their knowledge—to let you out so you can have a little chat?”

“Yes. And they cannot know about me being up here until after I’ve made up with Lucifer. You see, I’m sure that they would come to blows, which would undoubtedly spread to the other realms. I’m sure you’re familiar with the last time we had a family spat,” he says, his lips curling into a severe grin. “I would like to see as little blood shed as possible. So, will you help me?”

“No,” she says easily.

“Now, now. Don’t reject me so easily; it hurts, you know.” There’s a touch of anger to his voice, reminding her to tread carefully even if he’s the one behind bars.

“I’m not helping  _ you _ . I’m helping Beelzebub and your other brothers. They deserve to have their whole family.”

He pauses for a moment and then nods. “I don’t particularly care about your reasons; it all works out for me, either way.” He leans closer to the door that keeps him in the attic, and if Eleanor had any room behind her to escape to, she would. “I  _ do _ appreciate your help, however. Thank you.”

She would like to believe him, but she’s not sure she can. Still… She nods and moves to stand, looking down the stairs and listening to make sure there is nobody at the lower landing. 

“I’ll be back when I can,” she promises, not waiting for his reply before she takes the stairs down, two at a time. She makes a path towards Beelzebub’s room and, she thinks, relative safety, but is intercepted by the demon himself before he gets there.

“You missed dinner,” he says, looking guilty. “ So I was thinking that maybe I could take you to get something. Since it was my fault.” 

_ Explains the guilty look _ , she thinks, and smiles up at him reassuringly. 

“It’s not your fault, Beel. Really. But I am hungry, so if you’d like to go, then I’m down.” She wants, so desperately, to tell him the news about his brother. That Belphegor is right upstairs, that he doesn’t have to be sad about that anymore—but she remembers Belphegor’s warning, that there will be bloodshed if anybody else found out about his imprisonment. So she keeps quiet and holds out her hand.

Only for someone else to take it. 

“Dinner sounds  _ great _ , thanks, Beel!” Mammon says. “Just the three of us—”

“Four,” Levi interjects, and Eleanor whips her head around to see him. 

“Four of us,” Mammon amends. Beelzebub looks rather put out, and Eleanor imagines that he’s adding up the bill in his head and remembering the last time they went out to eat together.  _ But maybe Levi will be a calming influence on Mammon _ , she thinks hopefully.

Levi is not a calming influence on Mammon. In fact, he mostly serves to spur the Avatar of Greed on, Eleanor realizes. He’s ordered everyone a round of drinks (without offering to pay for them, she notes) which Mammon accepts with excitement. 

“So, now we all have pacts with the human here,” Levi says as he distributes the drinks. Eleanor waves hers away.

“Head injury. Best not to mix that and alcohol.” She points to the slowly-forming bruise on her temple, hidden mostly in her hairline. Beelzebub reaches across the table and takes her glass from her, beating out Mammon only by seconds.

“Why  _ do _ you want so many pacts, anyway?” Mammon asks and Eleanor looks up at him hesitantly.

“I heard about your, uh, other brother recently. The one up in the human world. And I thought that having a year to stew on whatever happened to make him and Lucifer fight won’t make anything better. So, I thought that  _ maybe _ if I had all of you backing me, he’d have to listen.” She pokes at the fries in front of her, hoping they’re edible for humans. 

“Interesting. You’re really hopin’ to get Lucifer and Belphie to make up, huh? And Beel, that’s why you decided to make a pact with her?”

“Well, that’s not the only reason,” Beelzebub hedges. “But, yeah, we both want the same thing.” Mammon looks between Eleanor and Beelzebub and narrows his eyes; Beelzebub only shrugs. Eleanor is oblivious to the exchange, still poking at her food.

“Do ya really think you can do this? I mean, it’s  _ Lucifer _ we’re talkin’ about.”

“I know I can. Or at least, I can  _ try _ .” She feels every inch like one of the protagonists in one of Levi’s more lighthearted shows, hoping to defeat the evil with the power of friendship. Levi chokes on his drink at her words.

“This isn’t a  _ game _ you can win. You know that right?”

“But think about it, though: has anyone ever tried to solve it whether it was us or anyone else? Who has ever offered to help those two make up?” The brothers look at each other in turn at Beelzebub’s words, and he smiles like he’s won something.

“Nobody,” Levi says sullenly.

“Right. So this might be impossible, but we can at least give it a shot before deciding it can’t be done.” Beelzebub has already agreed to the plan; he wouldn’t have completed the pact with Eleanor otherwise. Levi looks to her like he’s coming around as well. Mammon seems to be the lone holdout.

“Please, Mammon? We really can’t do it without you,” she wheedles. It’s the truth, at least; what she neglects to mention is that they’ll need all of the brothers anyway. He crosses his arms over his chest, a self-satisfied smile on his face. 

“Now that ya put it that way, I guess I  _ could _ help out. I mean, I can’t deny that this thing with Lucifer and Belphie affects all of us.” Eleanor pretends that she doesn’t notice it when he steals a few fries from her plate. 

“Agreed,”Levi says, stealing the fries that Mammon stole. 

“Then it’s settled,” Beelzebub concludes, clapping his hands together once. 

* * *

She barely makes it back to the House of Lamentation in one piece, not after Levi and Mammon started bickering about what to name their new little group. Once fries—and then other things, much to the alarm of both Eleanor and the pub owner—start flying through the air, they’re kicked out. And once they’re sure everyone else has gone to bed, or at least isn’t lurking around in the halls, they sneak back in. She’s especially glad that Lucifer isn’t there, mostly because she’s not sure how she would handle seeing him so soon.

Eleanor follows Beelzebub back to his room, not feeling tired in the slightest from her post-compulsion nap; and since she hit her head, she’s not sure she should let herself sleep so soon, anyway. 

“You take your bed back,” Eleanor says, holding up her hands to hold off his protests. “I’m not tired, and I shouldn’t sleep after hitting my head. But  _ you _ look tired, so…” She shrugs. He looks at her like he’s trying to catch her in a lie, but eventually gives in and stretches himself out over his blankets. He falls asleep quickly, while Eleanor busies herself with Mononoke Land and Levi’s friend quests.

“... Are you awake?” Beelzebub eventually asks, hours after Eleanor thought he’d gone to sleep. She sits up on the couch, looking over to him, but he’s still flat on his back, staring up at his ceiling. 

“I just need you to listen to what I’ve got to say. Long ago, when we were all in the Celestial Realm, I asked Lilith who she’d choose if it was between me and Belphie. She looked at me and laughed and just said ‘both of you!’ And sometimes, I dream of that.” He falls silent for a moment, turning over the memory in his mind until Eleanor wonders if he’s fallen back asleep. “But when I dream of that moment, that’s not where it ends. Lilith and Belphie both disappear, and everything is pitch black. I’m alone in a void, and I’m falling…” The emotion is thick in his voice, like he can barely get the words out through it. 

“Could you… Would it be okay if I held your hand? For a little bit. Until I fall asleep.” 

He sounds so vulnerable that Eleanor wants to cry; instead, she gets up from the couch in his room and pads over to his bed. She reaches out to take his hand, sitting at the edge of his bed. He scoots over, giving her enough room to crawl in beside him, and she rests her head beside his on his pillow. 

“Of course,” she says simply. He runs his thumb over her knuckles, pausing when he gets to his ring. 

“I’m not going to pretend it’s the same thing, but sometimes I have awful dreams, too. And it can be hard to tell, sometimes, when it’s a dream, so…” She clears her throat softly, looking at the collar of his shirt because she’s overwhelmed by the soft look in his eyes. “Sometimes it helps to try and count your fingers. It’s a lot harder to, if you’re dreaming. At least, for humans—”

He cuts off her rambling with a tight hug. 


	18. Babysitting Duty

The morning is subdued. Unnaturally so. Those present in the tomb the prior evening, and Eleanor keeps her head down so that she doesn’t make eye contact with anyone at all. It’s bad enough that she can feel Lucifer’s malevolence waiting at the other end of the table. She doesn’t need him crawling around in her head again, too. 

“Things are  _ so _ tense this morning,” Asmodeus observes, looking from silent brother to silent brother to silent human. 

“Hardly surprising,” Satan quips, observing the quartet. Levi, though happy to have joined them for dinner, was not part of the excitement and is happy to keep it that way. Silence echoes between the inhabitants of the House of Lamentation. Eleanor plays with the unused spoon at her place setting and tries to ignore the tension.  _ This is so, so, so uncomfortable _ , she thinks, shifting in her seat.

“I think I’ll head to class early,” she finally says, fully intending to hide at RAD until she can go back to her room and hide, perhaps for the rest of the year. At least until things have stopped being so  _ tense _ and she forgets that Lucifer tried really hard to murder her. Lucifer sets his cup of coffee down, with perhaps more force than is strictly necessary.

“Join me in the music room, if you would, Eleanor.” He phrases it almost as a request, but it’s an order; everyone seated at the table can tell that much. When he leaves, Eleanor remains seated, picking at the hem of her uniform. 

“Ooh, Lucifer wants to see her  _ alone _ . Super scary,” Asmodeus says, not sounding afraid for her wellbeing at all. Satan only laughs. Eleanor looks up to see Leviathan, Beelzebub, and Mammon all looking at her, worried; she can only offer them a shrug.

“Ya want one of us to come with you?” Mammon asks, looking like he’s torn between wanting to accompany her and fleeing the premises. Eleanor only shakes her head at all of them.

“I should probably solo this one,” she says with a too-tight laugh. “Asmodeus, you’re in charge of my funerary flower arrangements.” Leviathan visibly blanches at her words, but before anyone else can say or do anything, she’s fled the table. Her pace slows down once she’s left the dining room; she doesn’t want to seem  _ too _ eager for the reaming she’s sure she’s about to get, but she also doesn’t want to incite any further anger.  _ I hope Asmodeus doesn’t pick carnations, _ she thinks.  _ I hate carnations _ . 

“You’re here,” Lucifer says once she pushes open the music room door. He’s somewhat surprised that she actually showed up; he had been half expecting to have to hunt her down within the walls of RAD because Mammon spirited her away. “I assume you know what it is that I would like to speak with you about.”

“I didn’t know what a grimoire was or how important it is,” she blurts out before he can say anything else. “So I understand  _ now _ why you got angry, but I don’t think that Luke was—”

“No. Sit,” he cuts her off, gesturing to one of the plush chairs in the room. She follows his command, too shocked to argue any further. It’s a good look on her, he thinks. “First, I would like to make it clear that, so long as all parties are consenting, I have no problem with you making pacts with my brothers. However, your curiosity is getting the better of you. I want you to stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. I imagine that last night served as something of a learning experience for you.”

_ Ah _ , she thinks.  _ There’s the anger. _ But he doesn’t seem finished, so she waits for him to compose his next words. 

“What happened… What I did to you is inexcusable. I apologize. Sometime in the near future, I’d like to treat you to a nice meal out somewhere to make it up to you, just the two of us. Perhaps we can come to a further agreement.”

She’s staring. She  _ knows _ she’s staring, but she can’t keep herself from doing it.  _ Maybe I’m dreaming _ , she thinks, looking down at her hands. Ten easily countable fingers meet her eyes, and she curls them as she counts them off. But she can’t think of any other reason Lucifer would invite her out somewhere. When she looks up hesitantly, he’s waiting for a reply.

“Um,” she says, her mouth dry. “Yeah, sounds nice.” And then she immediately wants to kick herself because she doesn’t really mean it, but he looks pleased. 

“Very good. The repairs to the kitchen and your quarters have been completed. I expect you to resume sleeping in your room again. Additionally, you are excused from classes for the day. Please rest. You are dismissed.”

She nods, not trusting her voice to betray her confusion. She also doesn’t like the way he emphasizes that she should sleep in her own room, as if she planned out the destruction of the kitchen with a motive in mind. And when he dismisses her, she scurries out of the room and back to the safety of the dining room, where she hopes her pact demons are waiting. To her immense relief, they are.

“How ‘bout that, Eleanor; you’re alive!” Mammon says when she skids into the dining room, looking genuinely relieved. None of the demons in a pact had been particularly comfortable when Lucifer called her—alone—to have a conversation. Asmodeus looks rather put out at her appearance.

“Oh, you’re still alive,” he sighs. “That’s boring.” He shakes his head and leaves, seeing that there will likely be no further excitement. Ignoring his brother’s words, Beelzebub clears the length of the room. 

“Let’s see… Yep, you’re still got both arms and both legs,” he says, smoothing his hands across her shoulders and then down her arms. “Eyes are still in their sockets, ears are still attached. Guess you’re okay.”

She laughs at the—what she  _ hopes _ is the—absurdity of his particular concerns. 

“Of course. Unless he went crazy again like last night, he wouldn’t harm her. It would make him look bad, which in turn would make Lord Diavolo look bad. And we can’t have  _ that _ .” Satan says sardonically. Eleanor only shrugs in his direction as Mammon begins his own inspection, holding her hand in his as if he’s afraid Lucifer snapped her fingers off.

“I want to know what Lucifer did. You’re gotta give me the deets,” Leviathan says, his phone already in his hand to broadcast the answer. His words sober her up quickly and she frowns.

“I… don’t really know  _ what _ happened. He lectured me a little bit, told me that I’m to sleep in my own room and that I don’t have classes today, and then… Asked me out to dinner?” She phrases the end like it’s a question, as if it’s something that anyone else can confirm or deny. Mammon’s grip on her hand tightens almost to the point of pain, and she misses the looks that Beelzebub, Leviathan, and Mammon share between themselves. Satan looks shocked for a moment before composing himself again. 

Leviathan clears his throat before speaking. “I can take my morning class online,” he says slowly. “Come play games in my room with me.” She’s surprised when Mammon doesn’t complain all that much about the offer. 

“Okay,” she says with another laugh. There are far worse ways to spend a school day (being alone with Lucifer is, at the moment, high on her list) and so, when the others head off to their classes, she follows Leviathan up to the aquarium of his room. But he doesn’t bother to sit at his computer or sign into his classes; instead, he sits on the pile of pillows in front of his television and console and motions for her to sit down as well. 

But her entire attention is taken up by the massive game library he has, amassed in one floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.  _ And that’s probably just the physical version of the games _ , she thinks, impressed. She stands as tall as she can, reaching for the top shelf because she can’t read those titles. 

“Not those,” Leviathan all but shouts, panicked, yanking her away from his bookshelf. “I-I’ll pick something that’ll be easy for a normie like you,” he finishes, frog marching her away from the bookshelf, facing her away from himself so she can’t see his rising blush.

“Okay, jeez!” She laughs, completely oblivious to his embarrassment. She takes a seat on one of the floor pillows and waits for him to make his selection—from one of the lowest shelves, she notes with interest. His selection is cute and cartoony and, he’s made sure, utterly devoid of any suggestive themes whatsoever. 

She stalls out at the character selection screen, unsure which to select between the two dozen characters, all with unique buffs and weaknesses. 

“You pick?” She asks, handing his controller over to him. “You’re the master here. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I  _ am _ the master,” he says to himself, clicking through the different playable characters before finally landing on a druid. “This one’s good for beginners. Relatively high DPS but can also use shield spells and serves as a buff to the rest of the party.” She tries to match up his words with the bars above her character’s head, but most of the words on the screen are above her reading comprehension at the moment. 

“Sounds good,” she agrees, taking her controller back and selecting the  _ start _ button. Except that she gets almost immediately thrashed as soon as they get to the third level, facing a sudden learning curve that Levi has surpassed long ago. 

Levi turns and  _ almost _ gives her a tip on how to defeat the miniboss—they can’t move on until she reaches the checkpoint, after all—but stops, suddenly, when he turns his head to see her. She’s hunched over, furiously button-mashing as if that will improve her technique, tip of her tongue poking out the side of her mouth in concentration. She looks… oddly cute—but not, he reminds himself, anywhere near as cute as Ruri-chan. But perhaps not bad for a three-dimensional  _ human _ , which is probably as good as someone like her can get. He snorts and turns his attention back to the screen. 

“Wait three seconds after he drops his guard and then hit him in the back with a fireball when he prepares to attack,” he says, trying to sound bored and disinterested. It’s a winning strategy, and lets loose a loud  _ whoop _ when the miniboss keels over, finally defeated. And that does it. He can’t help it; he laughs at her, which only makes her frown at him. 

“Hey! Cut me some slack, I’ve never played this before!” She pouts, and he stops laughing immediately, covering his face with one of his hands. 

“I have to go to class,” he says suddenly, shooing her out of his room, and she barely realizes what’s happening until he’s slammed his door shut behind her. She doesn’t even have time to protest. 

_ As good a time as any to get out of this stupid uniform _ , she thinks, stopping by Beelzebub’s room to pick up her things. Her room is back to the exact state it was in before it was destroyed, and she marvels at how even the plants grew back. This time, she decides to put her things away where they belong. 

And she has all of thirty seconds to appreciate her work before her bedroom door is thrown open with enough force to bounce off her wall and start closing again. She shrieks and whirls around, grabbing the nearest thing to her—which happens to be a clothes hanger—to use as a weapon.

Mammon does not seem fazed at all to see her terrified expression, or all that bothered by it. She feels her heart thudding in her chest still, even as she lowers the hanger. 

“You have  _ got _ to learn to knock,” she breathes, relieved beyond measure to see it’s just him and not an enraged demon. 

“Like I have time for that,” he scoffs, lowering his sunglasses so he can look at her from over them. “Come on, get your shit, we’ve got things to do. Be quick.”

“ _ What? _ ” She gapes at him.  _ That required almost kicking my door off its hinges? _ She almost asks him the question, but he’s already crossed the distance to her and grabbed her by the forearm, tugging her along behind him. 

“The Great Mammon is offerin’ to do ya a favor and take ya out on the town. Act like it.”

_ Out on the town  _ turns out to be a racetrack. But not  _ any  _ racetrack, because this one is populated by demons and the overwhelming press of magic. Eleanor is all wide eyes and soft gasps, turning to look at everything at once, which irritates Mammon to no end because her attention is everywhere but on him. 

“Where are we going?” She finally asks when he tugs her a bit close, steadying herself by placing her free hand on his upper arm. And  _ that _ he likes because she’s finally looking up at him. 

“You can’t go around just feelin’ me up,” he grumbles, shaking her hand off his arm. “We’re goin’ to the paddock to look at the kelpies so I can pick one out and make a quick grimm. Got a friend who says Nuckelavee is lookin’ good.” Even though she’s pretty certain his words mean there’s some sort of under-the-table information trading going on, she’s still very excited to see something that isn’t the House of Lamentation or the Academy. The color and magic and the energy of the place is almost intoxicating, wrapping her up in it. 

And the kelpies, she discovers, are absolutely enchanting. They’re all beautiful in an otherworldly way, like all of the demons she’s encountered. And while she’s not too familiar with human world horses, she’s fairly certain that the kelpies are just a bit bigger. Most of them have dark coats that shimmer like an oil spill.

“They’re so  _ pretty _ ,” she gasps, leaning against the high, clear fence separating the viewing area from the paddock. They move in strange, flowing ways that make them seem like they’re trotting underwater, like they’re not really touching the ground. 

“That one’s the winner,” Mammon says, pointing to a kelpie wearing a red harness. Dark spots of sweat stand out on its flanks. While Eleanor is still distracted taking in the sights, he waves over one of the attendants standing by to take wagers. There’s an exchange of coin and Mammon looks far too pleased with himself for someone always asking others for money. 

“Oooh,” she says, pointing to the kelpie that is decidedly  _ not _ the one Mammon has pointed out. “That one! I want to bet on that one.” All she knows about it is that it  _ feels _ right, like it’s certain that it’s going to win. And it looks far more excited than some of the others, which she thinks can only be a good thing. She fishes around in her wallet and extracts about half of its contents. 

“I want to put this on the one in the purple,” she says to the demon taking bets, trying to sound exactly as confident as she doesn’t feel. The demon looks down at her and smiles like she’s a pet that’s just learned a new trick.

“Are you sure, sweetheart? That would be a break maiden, you know.”

“I don’t care. The purple one to win, please,” she says, hiding her ignorance behind a show of bravado. The demon, looking like he pities her, enters her bet into a little machine that spits out a receipt.

“Hope you didn’t need that grimm,” Mammon says smugly. “‘Cause Nuckelavee is the favorite.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waves his faux concern away, shielding her eyes from the bright lights illuminating the track. “Can we find seats?”

The crowd milling around the paddock is making it way to the track seating, signaling that a race is about to begin. Eleanor would prefer to actually see the results, no matter what they turn out to be.

“Don’t expect me to be comfortin’ ya when your kelpie comes in dead last,” he says once they find free seats that aren’t too close to some of the rowdier demons. He has his arms crossed over his chest and he’s keeping a close eye on the track.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” she pats his shoulder, trying to see the kelpie she’s selected in the chaos. Before she can really orient anything, the bell rings and in what feels like the blink of an eye to the human, the race is over.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” Mammon complains, throwing his stub to the ground. Eleanor sits up and leans forward in her chair. 

“The purple one won!” She squeals, clapping her hands, which only makes Mammon groan in frustration.    
“You don’t even know the damn thing’s name!” This only makes her laugh and pull her own ticket out of her pocket. She dangles in front of his face and watches as he goes cross-eyed to keep it in view.

“Wanna go cash in?” But she doesn’t give him much of an opportunity to accept or refuse because she leaves, determined to find a place to collect her payout—not that she really knows what it  _ is _ , only that she has one. He follows quickly behind her, easily falling into step beside her.

“How’d you know to bet on Malevolence?” He asks. “You got a connection here? Already?” He sounds dubious, and she resists reminding him that in her few weeks of residing in the Devildom, she’s already formed pacts with three high-ranking demons. Instead, she shrugs and answers honestly.

“Dunno. It just felt… Right. Like I knew she was going to win. Does that make sense?” She turns to look at him and is taken aback by the way he looks at her like she’s just suggested Luke whispered the answer into her ear while Mammon wasn’t looking. He even stumbles over air while he stares at her, which makes her feel self-conscious. 

“Bullshit,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced—not even to himself. He looks at her harder, searching for some sort of witchcraft that could have aided her, any mark of a seer that could explain the certainty she described. But there are none. Not a single spark of anything magical radiates from her, and now she’s staring at him nervously. “ _ Bullshit _ ,” he says again, softer this time.

“Guess it  _ doesn’t _ make sense, then.” She’s miffed. A little upset, even, at his reaction because she can’t read it at all, doesn’t have the faintest idea why he’d react so poorly to her silly little admission.  _ Sure _ , she thinks,  _ it’s a dumb way to place a bet, but it’s not like I wagered  _ that _ much _ . 

“I just like the color purple, then,” she says, a little harsher than she needs to.  _ You can stop looking at me like I just slapped you _ , she wants to add, but doesn’t. 

“Herod’s crown, Eleanor. Just collect your winnings.”

So she does. And she finds a smoothie that’s safe for humans and she doesn’t talk to Mammon, not even when he sulkily informs her that they’re heading back to the House of Lamentation. Not until they’re standing outside the gates, at least, and she realizes how late it is.

“Thanks. For today, I mean. Teaming up with Levi to keep me away from Lucifer. And… Stuff,” she finishes lamely. But he still isn’t looking at her and she wants to throw her half-empty cup at his face, to act as immature as he is in the moment.  _ Or you can keep ignoring me _ , she thinks when he doesn’t say anything at all. He has his hands shoved deep into his pockets and looks like he’s deep in thought about something; she couldn’t even begin to guess what.

And right now, she doesn’t particularly want to try because he’s her friend, and he’s ignoring her, and she  _ can’t stand that _ . So she hugs him, trapping his arms to his side.

“Stop being a jerk,” she tells him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got put on extra lockdown because I'm one of those ~immunocompromised people~ so now I for reals can't leave the house. Tell me your favorite tropes and maybe they'll show up here where they fit or in a one shot or something, idk


	19. Blood Moon Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satan hands out a friendly warning. Eleanor starts to Realize A Thing.

She isn’t explicitly  _ ordered _ to be in the student council room, but she knows without having to ask that she is  _ expected _ to be there, especially after Lucifer was so insistent in the group chat. But she goes to the meeting anyway, hot on Leviathan’s heels, and takes the seat closest to the door. 

“Does anybody know what we’re wasting our time here for?” Leviathan asks, looking at Eleanor like she has any answer whatsoever. 

“Don’t look at me,” she says, scrolling through her phone. “I’m pretty sure I’m just the team mascot, here.” Not that she's exactly looking for another job; adjusting to a new world with a new language and culture is overwhelming enough. She doesn’t need a demon prince breathing down her neck on top of everything else. 

“It is my understanding that Lord Diavolo has something to announce pertaining to our sudden three day weekend,” Satan says, not bothering to look up at the human or Leviathan, Asmodeus, and Beelzebub, the only brothers of his to arrive yet. It’s uncharacteristic of Lucifer to be late to a meeting he called himself.

“Three day weekend?” Levi asks, suddenly interested. “ _ Score _ . There’s a new game coming out, and if I spend that time beating it I can avoid spoilers.”

“Regardless, I heard some  _ very _ interesting things about your evening, Eleanor. And what you  _ did _ .” Asmodeus says, waggling his eyebrows. She looks up from her phone and cants her head, trying to think of anything about her evening that would have been interesting to him.    
“What did I do?”

“I heard that you made a risky wager and won a nice little bit of prize money for yourself. How did you do it?” His words tease at a hidden meaning that has her eyebrows furrowing.  _ What is he trying to get at? _

“Just luck,” she replies. “And I didn’t bet all that much, so I didn’t win all that much.” It’s Satan, this time, that has a reaction that draws her attention. He  _ snorts _ , which is not something she could ever have imagined him doing. He’s interested enough in the conversation to put down his book, which makes her put down her phone.  _ Something is going on here _ , she thinks nervously, and is privately relieved when the missing members of their party file into the room and take their seats. Satan looks elated to hear that she’s earned money at the racetrack, his green eyes glittering with some private mirth as he looks at Mammon.

“You know, Eleanor, they say that whenever our resident Avatar of Greed here takes a liking to someone, they suddenly find themselves awash in money. Stumbling into it, practically.”

“Like I’d ever  _ take a likin’ _ to a  _ human _ ,” Mammon seethes, refusing to look at Eleanor. She rolls her eyes at his reaction.

“Okay? I don’t see what that has to do with—”

“I am calling this officers’ meeting to order,” Lucifer says, bringing all cross chatter in the room to a sudden end. She doesn’t like the way that Asmodeus looks at her like she’s a brand new toy because it can’t be a portend of anything good. At least, not good for  _ her _ , since she’s learned that he likes to rile up his brothers for fun. 

“Diavolo has an announcement.”

“Yes! I am planning an exchange party—a retreat, if you will—between demons, angels, and humans to be held at my castle in an effort to ease any tensions that our exchange students might be feeling.” Although he doesn’t look at Lucifer directly, there’s no doubt in Eleanor’s mind that the prince is referencing the incident in the tomb. “I have a feeling that this will turn out to be quite the interesting experience for all of us!”

“Perhaps for you, but it’s simply going to bring more headaches for me,” Lucifer shakes his head with a sigh, and Eleanor wonders if she needs to watch her back because he’s going to blame her for the retreat. 

“Now, now, Lucifer, don’t look so glum! This will be the first official event in which humans, angels, and demons have all intermingled, and so it is very important that it goes well. Lucifer, why don’t you explain the itinerary?”

“ _ Itinerary _ ,” Leviathan groans beside her, low enough that nobody else hears. Eleanor tries and fails to keep a smile from her lips. 

“The retreat will consist of three days and two nights, which will be spent at the Demon Lord’s Castle. We will all attend several events, including a dinner party and a formal dance.” Lucifer does not look entertained at all by Diavolo’s plans, and takes care to pin a select few of his brothers with a meaningful glare. Eleanor raises her hand a few inches above her head, unsure of that the question-asking protocol is, and is rewarded with a brief nod from Diavolo.

“Sorry to interrupt, but… Castle?”

“It’s my castle. The place where I live, as the name implies.” His words are clipped, like he thinks she should already know that. And maybe she should, she considers.  _ He  _ is _ a demon prince, after all. Can’t expect him to bunk in a dorm room _ .

“It’s hands down the most magnificent, impressive structure in all of the Devildom,” Satan says, while Leviathan explains that it was used in part as a model for a structure in one of his video games. 

“It’s straight out of a fairytale,” Asmodeus cuts Leviathan off with a dismissive smile. “Absolutely beautiful.” Eleanor hasn’t exactly seen an ugly building in the Devildom yet, so she’s intrigued as to how the castle could so outshine the rest of them. 

“At first glance, maybe,” Mammon scoffs, having decided that he wants to take part in the conversation again. “But there are tons and tons of terrible stories they tell about that place. It’s enough to make your skin crawl. Barbatos has a secret torture room under the castle. And every night you can hear his victims screaming in agony echoing up.  _ And _ there’s a secret labyrinth, with a monster livin’ in it that eats demons.”

_ Secret torture chamber…? _ Eleanor isn’t sure she’ll ever be able to look at Barbatos ever again, not with those thoughts rattling around in her head courtesy of Mammon. 

“I think I prefer Asmodeus’s interpretation,” she admits with a little shiver. The demon in question seems pleased with her words.

“Of course people would prefer to be around something that’s appealing. Eleanor, I’m  _ so _ glad to hear that you like beautiful things, too. I think we would get along quite well.” He smiles at her and it actually reaches his eyes. 

“Meeting adjourned,” Lucifer says, dismissing them with a flick of his fingers. “I suggest that everyone prepare themselves and sleep well tonight; we leave for the Demon Lord’s Castle in the morning.”

And that’s it. She trudges back to the House of Lamentation, shuts herself up in her room and completes her work, doubting she’ll get much of a chance at the retreat. The idea that Diavolo can just waive an entire day of classes because he wants to throw a party makes her wonder just how much power he actually has over the realm. Her musings are cut short by a message from Satan, and it offers a merciful distraction to the boredom 

“Super Blood Moon?” She asks aloud, staring down at her phone’s screen. When she glances out her window, she  _ does _ notice that there’s a pinkish hue to the ever-present moon in the sky. She taps out a reply to the demon and slips out of her room to meet him at the front gate. He’s waiting for her, as he said he would be, and holds it open for her. 

“This is a rare opportunity for a human,” he informs her. “And I thought you ought not to miss it, considering you are here to learn about the Devildom.” 

“Oh,” she says, falling into step beside him. “What  _ is _ a blood moon here?” Even now she can see the moon above their heads changing in hue slightly, only perceptible to her if she’s looking for it. 

“The moon changes,” Satan says, gesturing to the sky. “It is a night of potent magics, of meetings, of discoveries. Perhaps, if we are lucky, we might run into Sariel.” He leads her away from the House of Lamentation and towards the town, but they take a sharp turn away from the populated area and towards an expansive park. It’s empty now, but she’s seen it full of demons before, doing things she thought were remarkably human.

“Sariel?” Half of the time the demons speak, they add only new mysteries that are rarely expanded upon or explained. Satan nods.

“An old friend,” he explains. “But  _ do _ be careful not to be alone around him; he is particularly fond of human women.”

Eleanor snorts her derisive laughter.  _ Does absolutely everything here want to eat me alive? _ It is, if she were to be honest with herself, both terrifying to think about and also becoming something of an old threat. 

“And that’s so different from every other demon wanting to eat me how, exactly?”

“You misunderstand. Sariel’s appetites run much closer to the carnal than they do the gustatory.” He says it lightly, without a trace of humor. Eleanor feels her face flood with heat and all she can mutter is an embarrassed “oh.” She remains quiet until he stops in the middle of a carefully manicured field, and motions for her to sit on the ground.

“Tonight, as I said, is a night of magic. Perhaps we should test your affinity for it.” He motions for her to hold her hands out, palms up in a mirror of his own. It only takes him a moment of concentration for fire to bloom in the empty air, and he holds the flame in his hands as it licks over his fingertips like it’s little more than light. She almost reaches out to see if it will burn her, but even through the air she can feel the heat his hands are throwing off. 

“Think warm thoughts,” he directs her. “And imagine the flame in your hands. Picture it not harming you. Magic is largely intent; you must mean for a thing to happen.”

She tries. She thinks of sunny days and cookies fresh from the oven, hot tea and the brutal sting of bare feet on sun-heated asphalt. But her hands remain stubbornly empty, persistently cold, and utterly devoid of any magical sparks whatsoever. Satan glances up at the moon, as if checking to make sure it actually  _ is _ the night of the Blood Moon. 

“Are you even trying?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” she bites out, irritated that he’d doubt her efforts. “It isn’t working.” His hands still crackle with flames and she stares at them, concentrating.

“Perhaps you need something of a jump start,” he says, extending his hands so that their fingertips meet. The flames rush up to meet her skin, and for the briefest of moments, her fingertips play host to the same magical fire. He pulls away and she wills the flames to grow, to spread until her own hands are covered like his are. 

But just as quickly they gutter out as if extinguished by a cold wind, and she gasps in pain at the sensation of unchecked heat on her fingers. 

“Ow,” she complains, popping the most aggrieved of her fingertips into her mouth.  _ That didn’t work at all _ , she thinks, unsure if she should be disappointed or angry about it. Satan only looks at her hands as if they’re hiding secrets from him, and then her lips as if they might have been transferred there. 

“That did not work,” he concludes.  _ No shit, Sherlock _ , she wants to tell him, but she’s too preoccupied with making sure her fingers aren’t actually damaged. With the weak light the moon and his hands are throwing off, she doubts there’s any lasting damage—just the shock of the sudden temperature change and her own wounded pride. 

“But since we are on the topic of playing with fire,” Satan starts, pinning her with his eyes in a way that makes her feel like a rabbit in front of an owl. “You should be more careful with Mammon. He is, as we keep warning you, very stupid. We wouldn’t want to see you hurt, would we? Either of you.” His words make her stop all soothing ministrations and she stares at him.

“What on earth does  _ that  _ mean?”

“I mean that you should not begin something you do not intend to finish with him. With  _ any _ demon,” he says pointedly. “Acting foolishly could cause quite a lot of trouble.”

“How much trouble can I cause in a year, really?” She asks, still nursing her fingertips.  _ A year barely matters to them _ , she tells herself.  _ Little more than a blip in their lives.  _ I’m _ little more than a blip in their lives _ . 

“How much, indeed?” He looks at her like he can divine her thoughts.

* * *

Asmodeus’s belongings make it seem like he’s going away for a week at the very least, with Leviathan’s coming in at a close second. It’s a surprise to nobody that Asmodeus is bringing as much of his closet as he can, while Leviathan is bringing his dearest fan merchandise. Lucifer already looks exhausted by their antics, and Eleanor lags at the back of the group, craning her neck to see as much of the castle as she can.

_ I thought the House of Lamentation was big, but this… _ It easily dwarfs the human world castles she’s only ever seen in photographs, and she wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that it had originally been designed to house an entire town. Or  _ more _ , even. 

“Hope you’re ready, Eleanor, cause there ain’t no guarantee you’ll come back from this alive, ya know?” Mammon slings an arm around her shoulders and she crashes into his side.

“Hang on—” she starts, alarmed, looking at the front entrance of the castle with a new trepidation. 

“Really, Mammon, I know you want her to be interested in you, but you  _ do _ realize it sounds like you’re trying to terrify her, correct?” Satan scolds his brother, sounding impossibly bored of the whole thing. His eyes, when he looks back to the human, say  _ I told you so _ , reminding her of what he’d told her last night under the Blood Moon. 

“W-why would I want a  _ human _ to be interested in me?” Mammon asks, but he doesn’t push her from his grasp.  _ It’s just harmless, stupid flirting _ , she wants to tell Satan, but she doesn’t dare—not with so many others present, and not where Mammon could agree with her. Not when she’s not entirely sure she means, it either.

“Fact remains there are a lotta rumors about this place. Ghosts roamin’ the halls, monsters hidin’ in the basement. Pathetic human like her ‘s gonna need some extra protection.” 

“Exchange guests are under Lord Diavolo’s protection,” Lucifer says, standing to the side of the open doorway. “Now, if you please, get inside. I would like to be on time.” Properly chastened, the more energetic members of the group file into the castle more subdued. Eleanor almost stops in her tracks when she finally sees the interior. It’s decorated with fine gold highlights and ivory tones, everything she wouldn’t have expected based on his personal taste in transportation. The entire ceiling is taken up by delicate gold filigree and the most miniscule details, every inch the place where royalty would reside. 

“You demons sure do get an early start on things,” Solomon says, drawing Eleanor’s attention away from the fine metalwork, making her realize that her mouth has dropped open in awe. Simeon and Luke follow him in, but none of them seem as awestruck as Eleanor. She wonders if Solomon has seen it before. Luke and Solomon are in conversation, hushed tones make it so that prying ears can’t hear; Luke looks upset about something, but then brightens when he sees the other human.   
“Eleanor!” He squeals, dashing away from Simeon and crashing into her. Surprised, she returns his hug and laughs, ducking down so they’re at a more equal level. This removes Mammon’s arm from around her and he visibly pouts, just for a moment.

“Oi, chihuahua! What’s the big idea, runnin’ up and just huggin’ someone like that?”

“Normies,” Leviathan says under his breath, but Luke doesn’t seem to hear either of the demons. He looks up at her with a wide smile and grabs both of her hands, swinging their arms together.    
“I am so,  _ so _ happy you’re alright! There aren’t even words! I thought you were going to  _ die _ ,” the angel says, finishing his confession in a hushed tone. “Your head  _ bounced _ ; I didn’t think that a human skull could do that!” He sounds equally horrified and mystified.

_ Charming as always, Luke _ , she thinks, but she only gives his hands a comforting squeeze. 

“I’ve been so worried, so it’s such a relief to see you safe and sound!” But the angel gives the demons around her a look that says he doesn’t trust them at all. “If anything happened to you, it would have been my fault!”

“It’s fine! I’m fine, see? There’s nothing to worry about,” she tells him.  _ Save me from self-flagellating angels and demons _ , she thinks. Her words only make Luke take a step back and drop her hands; he looks at her, searching for wings and holy light.

“You’re actually an angel, aren’t you? An angel disguised as a human?”

“Just a regular human, I’m afraid,” she says with a shake of her head. The previous night had highlighted that beautifully, her failure showcasing to herself and Satan just how unmagical she is. 

Diavolo clears his throat, which makes Barbatos step forward and clap his hands together once for attention.

“The aim of this retreat is for demons, angels, and humans to intermingle so that each may gain a better understanding of the other. There are specific events planned for each day of the retreat. After you’ve taken your belongings up to your rooms, we will begin with a tour of the Demon Lord’s Castle, where you will have a chance to learn about Devildom history. Tomorrow we will have a scavenger hunt, followed by a dinner party and formal dance. Each day will feature cuisine from one of the three realms, prepared by the guests here.”

Any interruptions from Mammon (of which there are a few) are ignored. Beelzebub perks up at the mention of food. She hopes Beelzebub doesn’t think that microwave macaroni and cheese is the extent of her cooking abilities because that would be upsetting.

“The room assignments are as follows: Lord Diavolo and Lucifer will share a room. Luke, Beelzebub, and Leviathan will be sharing a room.” 

Luke stiffens at Barbatos’s words, a thousand awful scenarios already whirling through his mind.

“Simeon, Asmodeus, and Eleanor will be sharing a room, which means that Solomon, Mammon, and Satan will also be sharing a room.”

Luke is not the only one that seems to be dissatisfied with the assignments. Eleanor wonders why, in a building as large as the castle is, people are sharing rooms at all; but she keeps quiet, not wanting to draw the ire of the demon prince or Barbatos.

“You have your own room here. Why share a room with me?” Lucifer asks, and Diavolo only smiles.

“This is a retreat! It’s expected that everyone shares a room with someone else!”  _ And that answers that question, _ Eleanor thinks. Causing chaos for chaos’s sake is all well and good, but she can’t help but to think that it isn’t a particularly good trait for a future king to have. 

At the same time, Mammon turns to his younger brother and stares at him with an intensity that would make a lesser demon squirm.

“Yo, Asmo. Switch rooms with me.”

“And why should I do that?” Asmodeus asks, shaking off his brother’s grip. Mammon mumbles excuses about Solomon snoring and Satan having smelly feet, which makes Eleanor poorly suppress a giggle. She’s not thought of anyone else’s sleeping habits, but she doubts that either of Mammon’s accusations are even remotely accurate.

“Be honest, Mammon. The truth is that you want to share a room with Eleanor, don’t you?” Satan crosses his arms in front of him and dares Mammon to say differently. Mammon, of course, takes the bait. 

“What? N-no, I don’t! Why would I want to share anything with Eleanor? I mean—any human? It’s just… Just that when you spend too much time with a human, their smell ends up runnin’ off on ya. So you should be grateful I’m even willin’ to trade with ya! You should be  _ honored _ , actually!” He runs over his own words and by the time he’s finished with his protest his face is dusted with a bright blush.  _ See?  _ Satan’s eyes say to her, which makes her look down at her shoes. 

“Look at how hard he’s trying to deny it,” Levi says, throwing an elbow at Asmodeus.  _ Don’t egg it on! _ She wants to tell him, but it’s too late. Asmodeus has that gleam in his eye that has, historically, meant only bad things for Eleanor. 

“Oh? Well, in that case, I’m afraid that the answer is no, dear brother.” Eleanor yelps when Asmodeus wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her flush against him to rest his chin on the top of her head. 

“Why  _ not _ ?”

“Maybe I enjoy seeing that bitter, frustrated look on your face? Ah, that’s the one! I  _ do _ so love that look,” Asmodeus purrs, while Eleanor is busy trying to escape his grasp.  _ He’s stronger than he looks _ , she thinks, trying to pry his hands off her. But it’s no use; Asmodeus has discovered that touching her sends Mammon into a tizzy, which supplies him with endless amusement.

“If we could all  _ move _ ,” Lucifer says, threat heavy in his voice.    
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, fun fact, Sariel is actually an angel mentioned in the Book of Enoch and despite being an angel, he's not a particularly good egg. That chat made me really wonder wtf was going on in the game.


	20. Old Friends

“It’s awfully… cozy,” Eleanor says, scanning the room they’ve been assigned. It’s not too much bigger than her room at the House of Lamentation, and that only has her in it. With two other people  _ and _ all of Asmodeus’s things crammed inside, it seems considerably smaller. Simeon nods in agreement at her assessment, while Asmodeus ignores her completely in favor of angling his third mirror just  _ so _ . 

“I look forward to sharing a space with the two of you these next few days,” the angel says, and Eleanor can’t tell if he’s actually being sincere or not. Still, she smiles at him and is about to speak when Asmodeus interrupts her.

“Yes, me too. I have to say, Eleanor, Simeon, you two certainly lucked out, didn’t you? Considering you get to share a room with  _ me? _ ” 

_ Here we go _ , Eleanor thinks, while Simeon only flashes Asmodeus one of his inscrutable smiles.

“I suppose you could say that we are lucky to have you on the team, yes.”  _ And that’s  _ one _ way of putting it _ , she thinks, but does not voice her thought. At least she knows that there aren’t likely to be any late nights; Asmodeus is fond of reminding everyone that lack of sleep is bad for the skin, and she can’t imagine him wanting to risk not looking his absolute best in front of so many people. 

“Now, now; there’s no need to hide how thrilled you  _ really _ are! Stop and think about it for a moment. You’ll be sharing a room with  _ me _ , Asmodeus himself!” He strikes a pose as if waiting for someone to photograph him. “Which means that you’ll be there to see me when i first wake up in the morning, after I’ve stepped out of the shower, when i get sleepy and start to doze off, when I’m changing clothes…”

“I don’t plan on seeing you when you’re changing clothes,” Eleanor interjects, which Asmodeus only replies to with a scoff. 

“For the next three days and two nights, you actually get to witness the most  _ private _ sides of me. Now, if that’s not what you call amazing luck, I don’t know what is!”

Simeon laughs as if Asmodeus has just told an excellent joke, and the demon pouts. “I have to say, you truly are very funny, aren’t you, Asmdodeus?”

“ _ Funny _ ? I believe you mean  _ beautiful _ . It’s okay, you can just come out and say it, you know?” Asmodeus reaches out and strokes the angel’s face with the back of his hand, and Eleanor is impressed with how impassive the angel remains. “Just what is your image of me, anyway?”

Simeon steps away and considers Asmodeus’s question.

“I think of you the same way I did back when you were up in the Celestial Realm. They called you the jewel of the heavens, do you remember that? I suppose I see you as someone who is very attached to that reputation, and who works day in and day out trying to live up to it.”

Asmodeus goes absolutely still and reels back from Simeon. There are years—decades, centuries, even—of stories and interactions that Eleanor is sure backs up Simeon’s claim. She winces at his assessment and carefully minds her own business on her side of the room.

“Are you saying that your image of me is of someone who wants to be loved?”

“I suppose that would be accurate,” Simeon replies. Asmodeus frowns and steps away from the angel, looking genuinely hurt. 

“I don’t feel that’s a good description of me, personally. I mean, naturally I think no one else in the three realms is more deserving of love than I am, but that’s just common sense now, isn’t it? I mean, is there anyone who  _ doesn’t  _ love me?”

“Hmm, I wonder. If you were to come across a soul that you couldn’t charm--that you couldn’t control--how would you react? It’s an interesting question, wouldn’t you say, Eleanor?”

Her head snaps up and she looks at both men, only to see them both staring at her. Expectation is written all over Asmodeus’s face.

“Oh no, please don’t bring me into this—”

“What do you, think, Eleanor?” Asmodeus asks, ignoring her panicked hand waving. “You think there’s actually someone out there who doesn’t love me?” He looks deeply into her eyes and smiles gently. The silence eventually becomes uncomfortable. 

“I... don’t know? There are a lot of people in the world, you know?” Asmodeus frowns and actually looks near tears to Eleanor, who chuckles nervously. She hopes this isn’t a trigger for Asmodeus the way being challenged on TSL trivia was for Leviathan. 

“… You  _ don’t know _ ? Are you just not very bright, is that it? Or perhaps it’s an issue with your eyesight?” He grabs her by her shoulders and stares at her, barely resisting the urge to shake her just the slightest bit. She considers, for a moment, telling him that being attractive doesn’t guarantee someone love when she’s saved by Satan.    
“The tour is starting soon,” he says, and if he finds the scene in front of him odd, he doesn’t remark on it at all. Eleanor takes the opportunity to shimmy out of Asmodeus’s grasp and skip after Satan. Her group was the only one missing, and Luke looks much more relieved to see both her and Simeon join them.

“I want to go home,” the blonde angel sobs, running up to Simeon and holding his arms open for a hug. Simeon pats him on the head.

“What’s wrong, Luke? You seemed to be in such high spirits earlier.” Simeon is disappointed; Levi and Beelzebub were, perhaps, the demons he thought least likely to scare Luke. After all, he’d spent time with Beelzebub alone before. Simeon had hoped that the retreat would serve as an excellent opportunity to broaden the angel’s opinions of others.

“Yeah. Suddenly that cute little tail of yours is hanging down like a sad doggy, you know,” Asmodeus attempts patting Luke on his head as Simeon had done, only for Luke to scowl at him. 

“I’m  _ not _ a dog. And I  _ don’t _ have a tail! You’re so lucky, Simeon. Unlike me, you have relatively decent roommates.” The glare he sends Asmodeus makes it clear that Asmodeus is not included in what he calls decent. “My room is  _ awful _ . First off, Leviathan is taking up almost half of the room to perform a strange ritual worshipping some sort of idol! And as for Beelzebub,  _ he _ suddenly started eating one of the paintings in the room because it looked like fruit…” Luke whimpers again at the memory.

But as they move through the castle—Lord Diavolo acts as the most out-of-place docent Eleanor can imagine—Luke settles down, even becoming comfortable enough to complain when Leviathan liveblogs the entire event. Lucifer threatens to confiscate his phone when Leviathan snaps a photo of one of the paintings in the gallery while Luke finds himself enraptured by a painting of the Celestial Realm.   
And that is when the scream rings out. 

The first thing Eleanor thinks of is Barbatos’s rumored torture chamber. The second is that the scream sounds far too close to have come from any dungeon. 

“What was that?” She whispers, afraid to make too much noise lest whatever it is finds them. 

“Just heard a scream at the Demon Lord’s Castle LOL… and sent,” Levi mutters, tapping away on his phone. He’s the closest demon to her, so she grabs his wrist. The group walks as one towards the sound, which is the  _ opposite _ of what Eleanor wants to do, but she wants to be left alone even less.

“Asmodeus!” One of the portraits calls out. It’s of an impossibly beautiful woman, face streaked with tear tracks. “This is your fault!  _ All your fault!” _

“Is that portrait… talking?” Solomon asks, and Eleanor could kiss him for asking the obvious question. 

“That is a portrait of Helene. She was a witch.” Lucifer says, considering the portrait before baking away from it to stand beside Diavolo. “Asmodeus, you should know her.”

“Helene, Helene… The name  _ does _ sound familiar… Oh! Yes!” Asmodeus taps a finger on his lips as he thinks. “Helene, darling, how have you been?”

The portrait only screams in rage as a response.

“Helene, poor thing, allowed herself to be seduced by Asmodeus and betrayed her lover for him. The resulting war destroyed her entire country, her life was ruined and, it seems, she was sealed up in this portrait.” Lucifer recites the explanation as if regurgitating information from a textbook. He’s backed away even more, Eleanor notes, while she seems to have been drawn closer towards the portrait. 

“Helene, I never expected to run into you here! I mean, what are the chances? It has been  _ so _ long, hasn’t it? What are you up to, these days?” Asmodeus speaks to the portrait as if she is a living, breathing woman of flesh, and as if she doesn’t look like she’s visibly plotting his grisly demise.

“Are you actually trying to flirt with her?” Solomon asks, exhausted. 

“After what happened, I incurred the wrath of the nephew of my lover, a sorcerer of great power. He sealed me in this painting,” Helene says, and Eleanor notices that her hands are moving, the tips of her fingers dancing at the edges of the bottom frame. 

“Demetrios? You know, his father was a grade-A hunk, so I bet he turned into  _ quite  _ the man himself. But, uh,  _ Helene! _ Why did you  _ tell _ me this happened to you? I wouldn’t have come over to help, but you’re so stubborn!”

“ _ Silence! _ ” Helene roars, and quite against her own will, Eleanor steps closer to the portrait. “You haven’t changed at all! You’re still the same awful womanizer of a demon you’re always been. Not one day hasn’t gone by that I haven’t thought of how much I hate you. Not a  _ single day! _ But even though I’m trapped in this painting, I still have enough power to capture you!”

Mammon, closest to the painting, is the first to feel its effects. He’s dragged closer to it, with just enough time to latch onto Leviathan. Beelzebub is drawn in next. And when Solomon begins to feel the portrait’s draw, he latches onto Asmodeus. 

“If I’m going in, so are you,” the sorcerer vows, not denting Asmodeus’s positive attitude at all. The demon only smiles and wraps his hand around Eleanor’s upper arm.

“In that case, I’m pulling Eleanor along with us!”

“Hey! Why?” She protests, far too late. Like the others, she’s dragged into the portrait, a bleak void overtaking her senses. 

* * *

“Eleanor.” Someone calls her name, and she can’t tell if her eyes are open or not. When she doesn’t immediately respond to her name, the speaker shakes her. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” she moans, holding her head in her hands. The stagnant air only adds to her nausea. 

“Ah! Good, you’re awake,” Solomon says, and then suddenly, she can see. With a wave of his hand he’s lit the candles lining the hallway. Or what she  _ thinks _ is a hallway; it seems to extend into forever. 

“Where are we?” She asks, half afraid to hear the answer. 

“I’m not entirely sure,” he says with a small frown as he looks down the infinite hallway. “I woke up here just like you, but it seems we’re the only ones here. And two humans alone, together, in an unfamiliar area of the Devildom? Not safe at all.”

She resists pointing out that he at least has magic and accepts the hand he offers her. The labyrinth doesn’t look any better once she’s on her own two feet, but at least it’s partially illuminated. 

“I’d better call Asmodeus over,” Solomon says, sounding resigned. Eleanor looks down at her D.D.D. only to see that there isn’t any signal and she frowns.

“How do you plan on doing that?” She holds up her phone and wiggles it a little bit. 

“Summoning him. If you have a pact with a demon, you can call them to your side whenever you want.  _ Very _ useful. Though I’m guessing it would be difficult for you, since you don’t seem to have any magical power whatsoever.” He brings his hand up to his lips in a thoughtful gesture, looking her up and down. “Observe.”

He holds out his hands, palms facing away from him. “Hear me, denizens of the darkness, you who are born of shadow and you who give birth to it. Hear me and do as I command! I Solomon, call upon you to send forth one of your number! I summon the Avatar of Lust, Asmodues!” The candles gutter in a wind she can’t feel, but the focused look on Solomon’s face tells her that  _ something  _ is happening. There’s a loud pop that makes Eleanor flinch, and then a rush of air. 

“Solomon! How many times do I have to tell you to be more  _ gentle _ when summoning me? What if I had injured my face, hmm? What then?” Asmodeus, Eleanor thinks, looks as he always does, as if being transported to an unknown location doesn’t particularly bother him all that much.  _ Which it might not _ , she concedes. His biggest concerns seem to be the manner of his summoning and the dust on Solomon’s shoulder; the demon busies himself by brushing it off and muttering something about appearances.

“Stop complaining, Asmo. This is your fault.” The sorcerer steps away from the demon. “Where are we?”

Asmodeus, irritated that Solomon rejected his ministrations, pouts at the sorcerer. “How should I know? It looks like we’re in the underground labyrinth or whatever’s supposed to be beneath that castle.”

“Then what happened to the others?” Solomon’s patience is running thin.

“No idea! But I’ll tell you this much: we’d better find Beel before he gets  _ really _ hungry, or we’ll have an actual problem on our hands.” He shivers delicately, as if the idea of Beelzebub’s hunger is too much for him to bear.

“Can we just find everyone else so we can get out of here, please? It’s creepy,” she adds, eyeing the giant spiderwebs up along the ceiling. Solomon nods silently and Asmodeus huffs, but selects a direction; the two humans follow. But Solomon quickly outpaces Asmodeus, taking the lead. To keep up with the both of them, Eleanor has to scurry behind them; the light from the candles follows Solomon, and she would prefer not to be left alone in the dark.

“ _ Solomooooon _ ,” Asmodeus whines after a few minutes of walking in silence. “How far does this labyrinth go: Are you even sure we’re going the right way?” He slumps his shoulders in an exaggerated pantomime. Solomon does not turn to see the demon’s antics.

“Quiet, Asmo. You’re the reason we’re here in the first place.”

“ _ Me? _ ” Asmodeus gasps, placing both hands on his chest. “I didn’t do anything wrong! Eleanor,” he turns on her, grabbing both of her hands in his. “You agree with me, don’t you?”

Eleanor laughs. “You probably should at  _ least _ apologize to Helene.”

“Apologize?  _ Me? _ I haven’t the faintest idea why you’d want me to do that. Sure, it didn’t end well, but how was I to know what would happen? And it’s not as if I manipulated her; all I did was help her to release her inner desire.” He stops walking, arresting Eleanor’s progress forward as well. Solomon courteously halts as well, clearly amused by his demon but trying not to let it show too much.

“Everyone desires something; everyone has lust in their heart, no matter how noble or saintly they may be, there’s always  _ something _ locked up in there. Even if they try to hide it, it’s always there, fighting to be freed.” His eyes bore into hers with an intensity she isn’t prepared for and it makes the breath catch in her throat. “It’s the same with you, isn’t it, Eleanor? I do wonder… who is it you desire? What sort of secret, shameful thoughts are hidden in that heart of yours?”

He releases one of her hands and traces her jaw with a finger, dipping down until that finger hovers just over her chest. 

“Why not let me help you reach inside and unleash it?” He asks, and his mouth is so close to her face that she can feel his breath ghost across her cheeks.

“Um,” she says. 

“That’s enough,” Solomon says, putting one of his hands in front of Eleanor’s face so that she can’t make eye contact with the demon. 

“Quiet, Solomon. We’re having a moment, here,” Asmodeus grinds out, sounding genuinely  _ angry _ . It startles Eleanor, and Asmodeus uses that movement to guide her a few steps away from the sorcerer. 

“Perhaps. But are you certain  _ now _ is the time for that?” 

“ _ Yes, _ ” Asmodeus breathes. “Things are just starting to get good…”

“Are they?” Eleanor challenges, just as Solomon points off to the distance.

“Okay, but you should probably know that Mammon, Leviathan, and Beelzebub and being chased by a giant snake right now.” He says it so casually that at first, Eleanor doesn’t believe him. Asmodeus drops her hand and pulls away from her.

“Come again?”

But he’s right, including about the size of the snake. It’s impossibly huge, taking up most of the space in the corridor as it chases the demons. When Solomon sprints away, she follows him, dragging Asmodeus along behind her. His brothers follow after that. 

“Any magic tricks?” She pants when they find a hidden alcove. She and Solomon are the only ones that seem truly out of breath; Solomon can only shake his head as he leans against a stone wall.

“This is all your fault, Mammon,” Beelzebub says, looking grumpy.  _ But not quite hungry yet _ , Eleanor thinks, relieved. “You’re the one who woke it up.”

“Hey!” Mammon protests. “I didn’t wake it up! I just saw a nice snakeskin that I thought looked like it might sell for a good sum, and I wanted to take it with me. But then that monster suddenly came after us, all mad ‘n stuff!”

“That’s  _ not _ a monster. That’s Henry 1.0.” Leviathan says, shaking his head. “I know Henry when I see him, and  _ that’s _ Henry. Look, I even got a selfie with him!” He holds up his phone to show a blurry photo of him smiling widely, the snake Henry looming close behind.  _ I thought Henry was a goldfish? _ Eleanor thinks, looking critically at the photo. But the thing stuck with them in the labyrinth is certainly not a goldfish. She voices the thought, only to have Asmodeus shake his head at her.

“Every time Levi gets a new pet, he names it Henry.  _ So  _ unoriginal.”

“I thought I’d lost Henry 1.0 forever! He got out of his tank one day and then I never saw him again. Every time I moved something in my room, I was afraid I’d find his remains. But he’s here!” Leviathan says cheerily. “He’s alive and well, and he’s gotten so big! Oh, it’s such a relief. I’m glad he’s alright.”

“Leviathan, if he used to be your pet, do you think there’s a way of pacifying him?” Solomon asks, only to have Leviathan shake his head. 

“Nope, no way. It looked like he'd forgotten me completely. And we’re  _ not eating him _ , Beel,” Leviathan adds when his brother’s stomach growls. This sets off a small argument between the brothers; the primary argument is between Mammon, Beelzebub, and Leviathan regarding the fate of the giant snake. Eleanor is preoccupied, considering Solomon.

“Do you have like…” she wiggles her fingers in a facsimile of practicing magic. “Snake charmer magic, or something? If Henry 1.0 has lived down here all this time, he might know a way out.” Solomon considers her question, a pensive look on his face. Eventually, he nods.

“I did just think of a strategy we could try,” he says. Asmodeus throws his arms around the sorcerer and kisses him soundly on the cheek.

“Oh, Solomon! I knew you’d come up with something! Not only are you good-looking, but you’re smart, too!”

“Thanks,” Solomon says with a nod of his head. “I’ll be counting on you to make this work, Asmodeus.”

“Good thinkin’!” Mammon claps a hand on one of Solomon’s shoulders. “When that snake is busy chewin’ on Asmo, we can make our escape.” This starts  _ another _ squabble among the brothers, which almost drowns out a shivering, shuddering noise like something heavy is being dragged on the floor.

“Solomon,” she says, nervous, tugging on his sleeve. “I think the snake is back. Could you—” He looks down at her and then up at the direction she’s staring in.

“Asmo, look alive. I’ll begin by using my magic to amplify your powers. Then you charm Henry, and  _ we _ can get out of here. This will take a minute, so Eleanor, be a doll and distract the snake. Mammon, go with her.” She barely had enough time to process his words and catch the playful gleam to his eyes before he propels her away from the group, directly into the path of the snake. Eleanor squeals and hides behind Mammon, who is just as flustered, if not more.

“Denizens of the darkness, awaken! You who are born of shadow, hear me! I am the one called Solomon. I call upon you now to lend your power to Asmodeus, Avatar of Lust!”

Even though her back is turned to the rest of the group, she can  _ feel  _ the magic rising behind her as the snake approaches. But it doesn’t stop; instead, it only focuses on the prey closest to it. She fists her hands in Mammon’s jacket and tries to drag them both backwards.

“I am  _ so _ turned on right now,” Asmodeus breathes, stepping in front of them. Eleanor barely has time to sigh in relief that someone—anyone—has stepped in to deal with the situation before Henry rises to strike.

“Now, now, Henry,” Asmodeus soothes. “Look me in the eyes. There we go, that’s right. There’s a good boy…”

Henry pauses and then lowers his giant head to look at the demon, all desire to eat the interlopers forgotten. His tongue tastes the air and Asmodeus brightens.

“What’s that now? You want to show us the way out of the labyrinth?  _ Good _ boy!” Asmodeus croons, holding one of his hands out behind him, motioning for everyone else to follow. 


	21. Dealings

She has never, ever been as happy to see the ugly little anatomically-correct heart shaped vase that sits on her bedside table as she is now, nor will she ever be again. Probably. At least, she thinks so. Because seeing it now means that she is out of the labyrinth, safe and unharmed and, to her unending relief, not eaten alive by a giant snake. 

_ Good looking out, guardian angel _ , she thinks, but a glance at Simeon reminds her that they don’t actually exist. Anymore. The thought will take some getting used to. Asmodeus is busy recounting the story of their intrepid escape—again—to the angel, even though everyone already heard it—multiple times—at dinner. 

“And you know, the whole reason we were able to escape was because of  _ me _ and how stunningly beautiful I am,” he says with a self-satisfied sigh. Eleanor presses one of her pillows into her face and resists the urge to scream. 

“Yes, Asmodeus, you are my knight in shining, fashionable armor. But can we please,  _ please _ get some sleep?”

“Frankly, it’s just wrong to be  _ this _ devastatingly beautiful,” he says, ignoring the tone to her plea. “But, you’re correct, Eleanor. It  _ is _ time for me to get some sleep. Nighty-night, you two!” He slides gracefully under his covers, mask slipped down over his eyes. 

“You’re going to be already? It’s awfully early for that,” Simeon says, and Eleanor wonders, for the very first time in her life, if it’s possible to throttle an angel. 

“Lack of sleep leads to unhealthy skin, and I don’t want that. I’m sure the both of you want to see me looking my best, right?” Asmodeus doesn’t bother to sit up to address Simeon’s question. 

“Well, I suppose that means that I’ll get to enjoy some peace and quiet tonight, which is much appreciated,” the angel acknowledges, turning off the lights with a wave of his hand.  _ Showoffs, all of them, _ Eleanor thinks, but she curls up under her covers anyway and settles into the dark. After the day they’ve had, Eleanor is truly appreciative to have been paired with an angel and the one demon that seemed to care about an appropriate sleep schedule. It’s peaceful.

And it lasts all of fifteen minutes, until she’s just on the cusp of falling asleep.

The illusion of peace is broken with the bang of the wooden door against the stone wall and shouting. Eleanor drags her blankets up over her head and tries to pretend she doesn’t exist.

“Look who’s here! It’s me, Mammon! And you know what that means? You ain’t gonna be gettin’  _ any _ sleep tonight!”

“Mammon,” she warns, still hiding under her blankets. 

“All right, all right! Get ready for a pillow fight because this is a retreat, and we  _ are _ having one!” He yanks her blankets away from her face and is not at all taken aback by the glare she shoots him. Instead, he tugs the pillow out from under her head and holds it over his in preparation to throw it at someone. 

“Asmo, he’s your brother. Don’t you think you could possibly do something about him?” Simeon asks, but Asmodeus only pretends to be deeply asleep.

“You’re not gonna fool  _ me _ , pretendin’ to be asleep,” Mammon says, and throws Eleanor’s pillow directly at his brother’s face. “Right, so it’s gonna be me and Eleanor versus Simeon and Asmo! So c’mon, get up already, Asmo! We gotta get started before that ass Lucifer comes ‘round on patrol and starts botherin’ us!” Mammon tries to cajole her into a sitting position, but she only crosses her arms over her chest.

“How do you have so much  _ energy _ ?” She whines, but her complaint is drowned out by Lucifer’s appearance in the doorway. Even Mammon, with his back to the door, feels the shift in the room.

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer says, not sounding sorry at all. “ _ Who _ did you just call an ass?” Eleanor wishes Mammon wasn’t holding her blankets in a vice grip because she’d like to hide underneath them.

“You know, I would rather not spend my evening patrolling the halls, nor did I want to bother you. But I received words that a certain dimwit tries to sneak inside the castle vault, so as much as I’d like to rest now, I can’t.”

“Busted,” Eleanor whispers. 

“Y-y’know what? I suddenly feel  _ sooo _ tired… Maybe I’ll just… go back to my room and, uh… sleep,” Mammon says, finally dropping Eleanor’s blankets. Lucifer only shakes his head.

“Oh, no. I believe a punishment is in order.” And even though he tries to evade his older brother’s grip, Mammon is not successful; he’s dragged from the room. Screeching rings out from down the hall until it fades away with distance. 

“Asmodeus, give me back my pillow,” she says once it’s silent again. His pretend snoring is her only response.

“ _ Asmo _ ,” she whines.

* * *

Morning came much too soon for her preferences, and the scavenger hunt is not the relaxing activity she hoped it would be. They’d been split into teams based on rooms, and she’d fully expected Satan’s team to win; she hadn’t accounted to Asmodeus’s ability to charm literally  _ anything _ . Paintings willingly give up their secrets (he doesn’t share the same nerves regarding them as she does) and statues move to give him access to secret passages. It’s drawing the ire of the rest of the teams, especially when he charms a statue that looks suspiciously like the  _ Venus de Milo _ into changing her position. This renders her clue impossible to use for the other teams, and is a breaking point. 

“Asmo! Whaddya think you’re doin’!” Mamamon complains, and Satan looks ready to murder someone. 

“I can’t help it now, can I? It’s not my fault that I”m so charming. And I don’t believe it said anywhere in the rules that we’re not allowed to get in the way of other teams,” he says, batting his eyes in an approximation of innocence. His closed-mouth grin ruins the illusion, and so does the way he turns on his heel and stalks away from the group.

“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done talking to you, Asmo,” Satan calls out to his brother’s retreating back. 

“Where am  _ I _ going? Somewhere I don’t have to listen to people  _ lecturing _ me,” he grouches, and Eleanor rubs her temples in irritation. Simeon stands behind her and sighs.

“He really is a handful. What are you going to do, Eleanor?” He asks, and she turns to look at him incredulously.  _ Since when am I his keeper? _ She wants to ask, but only shakes her head and jogs after him, catching up after they’ve both turned a few corners.

“Hey,” she says, and reaches out to keep him from walking any farther away. He turns and looks down at her with a smile, but there’s an edge to it that tells her he still isn’t happy.

“Oh? Did you follow me hoping to have a little alone time?” He asks and she scrunches up her face at him.

“You should apologize to the others,” she says. It’s the  _ wrong _ thing to say because he steps back from her coldly. 

“Apologize?  _ Me? _ I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you, but I am disappointed to see that you’ve come to lecture me too.” He pouts and she groans.  _ Save me from emotionally constipated demons _ , she grouses. 

“I’m not here to lecture you, but cheating like that isn’t cool. Winning is nice, sure; but don’t you think it’s better to  _ earn _ something?” He leans back towards her as she speaks, cupping her face in both hands and stroking her cheekbones with both thumbs. 

“Was it now?” He asks, bringing his face closer to hers, forcing her to make eye contact with him. “You don’t think I should have charmed the sculpture? Is that what you  _ really _ think?” He waits for her to reply only for a moment before frowning and bringing her face even closer to his. She has to stand on her toes to keep from falling over. “I see you staring into my eyes right now… But you don’t feel anything, do you? Like, nothing at all? Really?”

“No,” she says with a frown. “Should I?”

“I was trying to charm you, like the snake in the labyrinth,” he admits, releasing her. She steps back from him and rubs her face where his hands were. “You’re just a human, yet my power doesn’t work on you.” He looks genuinely upset, and she  _ almost _ feels bad for him.  _ That’s what you get for trying to jedi mind trick me _ , she thinks, and watches as his expression changes from morose to  _ angry _ . 

“Even so, if you think you can control me, you have got another thing coming”

She considers him. His words. His brother trapped up in the attic back at the House of Lamentation. 

“I can’t control you, you’re right,” she says slowly. “But I could if I had a pact with you.” And  _ this _ earns her a sharp, angry smile full of danger. 

“Me? Make a pact with  _ you _ ? Do you think that because I made a pact with Solomon that I’d do it with just any human who happens to stumble across my path? If you think I’m that easy to tame, you are  _ very _ mistaken, little girl.” His smile only grows in malice, and Eleanor takes half a step back, wondering if she’s about to be in significant danger. But then he pauses and bridges their distance again. “But if you want a pact with me  _ that  _ badly, then how about this? Get me a photo of Lucifer sleeping. If you can manage to outwit him, then I’ll be willing to recognize you as someone worthy of me.”

It’s a death sentence. She’s sure of it. But she narrows her eyes and holds out her hand anyway.  _ And such a silly request _ , she thinks. 

“Deal,” she tells him, promising herself she’ll find a way somehow. “Now, would you  _ please _ come back to the rest of the group? Luke is anxious to start dinner and the sooner we finish dinner, the more time you’ll have to make yourself the most resplendent being at the dance.”

He’s pacified by her words, seeing the truth in them. And when they return to the group, she is pleased to see that he cheats just a little less, allowing the other teams at least a fighting chance.

Not that prize is much of anything—just a congratulatory handshake from Diavolo, where he almost crushes her hand in his own before he remembers his demon strength. She hides her hand behind her back when she massages the feeling back into it and when they’re all brought to the dining hall for dinner, she’s relieved. And after that, there’s not much else to do but to go back to their rooms and prepare for the evening. 

Asmodeus stakes his claim in the bathroom, and sweet scents pour from it as he prepares himself. Eleanor collapses onto her bed and scrolls through her phone for what feels like an hour, and even Simone has prepared himself. One of the little blue-horned sprites has been flitting around her head for the past few minutes, but she keeps nudging it away. 

“Aren’t you preparing for tonight’s festivities?” The angel asks, just as Asmodeus emerges from the bathroom wreathed in steam. 

“I didn’t exactly come here with anything worthy of a demon ballroom,” she points out. “So I think I’m going to have to sit this one out.” The sprite, fed up with how she’s been ignoring it, tugs on a lock of her hair. 

“It seems your friend brought you something,” Simeon points out, and she follows his gaze to a box resting on her bedside table. The sprite squeaks something and tugs her hair again, pulling her closer to it.

“I see,” she says, catching it in her hands gently. “Thanks, little guy.”

“Open it,” Asmodeus urges, drawing closer. Eleanor swings her legs off her bed and stares at the box, her hand hovering above it. Not that it looks  _ dangerous _ , exactly, but…

The tugs the ribbon off and watches as the silky bow comes undone in one swift movement. The lid is next, and she eases it off to reveal what looks, impossibly, like the night sky trapped within. She gasps and runs her hands over the fabric, and then lifts it from its container. More fabric than should have been possible spills out, and she holds it far up off the ground to reveal a gown. 

“It’s  _ beautiful _ ,” she says, staring at the tiny beaded constellations on the gown, the wide sweep of the skirt. It even looks like it would fit her, but… “I can’t wear it,” she decides. It’s too much. Too rich. She wants to, desperately, and she commits it to memory, promising that she’ll recreate it when she gets home. 

Asmodeus snorts. “Oh, he is not subtle  _ at all _ ,” he says, and then tries to look as if he hadn’t said anything when she snaps her face to his. He laughs at her and then takes the gown from her. “Don’t be stupid. Of course you’re going to wear it, because you’re going to the dance. It’s required, you remember. Now, let’s get you into this.”

And without a moment of hesitation, he pulls the bottom of her shirt up.

“Hey!” She protests, tugging the gown back to her. “I can get changed myself,  _ thank you _ very much.” And she retreats to the recently-vacated bathroom, locking the door behind her. His purpose with his handsy little stunt is clear, even to her, and she doesn’t like being manipulated. 

“Let me know if you desire any assistance,” he calls out after her, laughing. She scowls at the closed door and then changes. The open back reminds her of how cold the Devildom can be, and she shivers a little bit, and then shivers again when she catches a glimpse of herself in Asmodeus’s full-length mirror.

She tilts her head to the side and stares at her reflection. She likes pretty things, of course. And there has always been some secret, not-so-buried part of her that’s always coveted the extravagant gowns she saw in magazines or on television. But actually wearing one is daunting, even if she thinks it makes her look like some fantastical queen of the night sky.  _ At least it’s more to my taste than the cupcake monstrosity at the photoshoot _ , she thinks, flattening her hands against her skirts. 

“ _ Someone _ provided shoes for you, too,” Asmodeus calls to her, snapping her back to reality. She opens the bathroom door and steps into the room, carefully avoiding eye contact with both the angel and the demon. Asmodeus hands her the shoes—silver, strappy things that will, she’s sure, make dancing nigh impossible—and clucks his tongue.

“Oh, no. No, no. Not acceptable,” he says, tapping her shoulders so that she sits down onto the nearest surface.

“Excuse me?” She asks, face reddening with anger. But it’s too late; he’s already wielding a hairbrush.

“Letting your hair down? With that neckline? We are sharing a room, and if I let you walk around like that it will reflect poorly upon  _ me _ ,” he says as if it was completely obvious. And he sets upon his work with a ferocity that almost alarms her. He jabs pins into her hair, which makes her wince, and then steps back to admire his end result. 

“It will have to do,” he sighs.

“You look lovely,” the angel assures her, and she  _ much _ prefers his statement over Asmodeus’s displeased sigh. But she doesn’t want to actually find out which one of them is right, so she avoids any other reflective surfaces. The little sprite rejoins her, sitting on her shoulder; she doesn’t even feel its weight.

“Thanks, little guy,” she says to it, patting its head with a single finger. “I guess someone didn’t want me to disgrace all humanity, did they?” Her suspect pool is small, but short of actually asking, she’s not sure how to narrow her mystery gift-giver down. She wonders if there is a message somewhere in the box, but Asmodeus has already rifled through it.  _ And he seems to know  _ exactly _ who it’s from _ .  _ Not that I’m going to ask _ , she thinks, following both of her roommates out. 

The stairs are her next daunting task. She stares down them while Asmodeus trills something about being fashionably late while she tries to figure out if clutching the railing would be dignified or not. The combination of her shoes and heavy skirt makes it seem, at least to her, like a herculean task.

Simeon holds an arm out to her and she blinks in surprise, and then looks up to him. “Assistance?” He offers.

“You’re an angel,” she tells him as she settles her arm on his. “Oh, I mean—of course you’re an angel, I just meant… Thank you,” she finishes lamely, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. 

Diavolo claps his hands together once when they’re all assembled, and the lights seem to glow warmer and other attendees appear, seemingly out of thin air. 

“Surprised?” Solomon asks, and all she can do is nod, staring at the wild hues of the other guests. “Magic comes in handy sometimes.” And  _ that _ she actually laughs at. 

“Let the dance begin! Everyone, enjoy yourselves!” Diavolo calls out from his dais. 

“Remember our deal, Eleanor,” Asmodues says, pressing a quick kiss to her hairline. “The sooner the better, of course.”

She looks up at him, frowning, but he’s already gone, taking Solomon with him. When she looks over to Lucifer, her quarry, she finds that he’s already looking her way as if  _ she’s _ the prey. She swallows hard and that is when she notices his horns, his wings. He’s in his demonic form, human guise dropped completely; the facade of safety isn’t necessary right now, though she dearly wishes that wasn’t the case.

_ Doomed _ , she thinks.  _ I’m absolutely fucked _ . 

And as he moves towards her, she knows it’s absolutely true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all know who the dress is from


	22. A Private Conversation

She ducks around some of the other brothers, knowing that it won’t buy her much, if any, relief from whatever warpath Lucifer set himself on. But Mammon blocks her progress and she stops in her tracks. And stares. 

And it’s only then that she realizes they’re _all_ in what she’s been mentally calling their demon forms, where all pretense of humanity is dropped. Now that they’re not trying to murder her (except, possibly, Lucifer, who is still somewhere just out of her eyesight) she can take a moment to appreciate them. 

But it’s not to be. Mammon catches her by the arm.

“Yo, Eleanor. I… Um. Y’know, uh…” He stares at her bare shoulder with an intensity that almost makes her laugh, and actually does make Satan hit him on the back harder than is strictly necessary. The impact seems to bring him back to himself. “Y-you’ve gotta have some really weird tastes to ask a human like you to dance, so I’m guessin’ no one here’s gonna do that, huh?” And then he _laughs_ at her, which makes her want to stamp on his foot with her heel.

“So… Y’know, as long as you don’t have a partner, I guess I could maybe go ahead and pair up with ya. For a little bit. Until someone better comes along, ya know?”

“Mammon, why not just admit that you actually really want to dance with her?” Satan sounds disappointed but not surprised at his brother’s antics, and she can’t tell if that’s better or worse than Leviathan’s guffawing laughter. 

“You’re such a loser. No one likes a tsundere, idiot.”

Mammon turns to scowl at both of his brothers, waving them away with his free hand. The other is still occupied holding Eleanor’s arm. 

“Get outta here, both of you!” Both Satan and Leviathan stiffen and look somber, but their reactions have nothing to do with Mammon’s words. Instead, Eleanor feels a shiver run down her spine at the sudden change in the mood of the group. The music has already started; something bouncy and warm that is totally at odds with the dread she suddenly feels.

“Eleanor,” Lucifer says, and Mammon drops her arm. “You will come dance with me. Now.” Her eyes widen and she’s halfway to getting a refusal to her lips when he shepherds her away from his brothers, closer to the center of the dance floor. She can hear Satan, Mammon, and Leviathan squabbling again, but can’t make out their words; she looks over her shoulder only to find she can’t see them anymore, their forms obscured by those of the other guests.

“You could have asked nicer,” she bites out, looking everywhere but at him. Because the last time she saw him in this form she’d been halfway to a concussion. If she thinks about it now, she’s sure she can still feel him scraping around in her mind.

“It was not a request,” he says, making her blood boil. “Do you know how to dance?”

“It’s that something you should ask before dragging someone to the dance floor?” She asks, but his sharp look at her makes her answer honestly. “Yes.”

“Wonderful. Then I don’t have to bother explaining things,” he tells her with a sadistic smile. She tries not to jump out of her skin when he takes one of her hands in his and places his other hand on her waist so that his fingers rest on the small of her back. He holds her hand too tightly, as if he’s afraid she’s going to run away, and she tries hard not to feel the weight of his fingertips on her bare back. 

“In general, there are all sorts of reasons why one might ask someone else to dance. For example, they might be interested in them, they might want to touch them,” she feels his fingers flex and is grateful that he seems to always wear gloves, “or they might simply be doing it out of politeness.”

 _I thought you said you weren’t going to bother explaining things_ , she thinks, and wonders if she can get away with stepping on his toes. His dark look ends that idea almost as soon as it starts and she focuses instead on not biting her lip. 

“ _Or_ ,” he says, pulling her tight to his chest and leaning down so his mouth is next to her ear. “It could be because they want to have a private conversation. What is it that you’re potting with Asmo?” 

His question makes her feel like she’s been doused with a bucket of ice water. She almost stumbles, but he’s holding her so tightly she doesn’t even have a chance to fall.

“Let me make one thing clear: I respect my brothers’ freedom to do as they wish. However, if I ever sense that you’ve become a threat to either Diavolo or us, then I will show you absolutely no mercy.”

Her heart thunders in her ears and she feels goosebumps raise on her arms. They’re not moving at all now, and Eleanor feels his hand pressing into the base of her spine for the threat that it is. _Asshole_ , she thinks, her anger outweighing her fear. She tries to break free from his grip, but he holds her with a tightness that’s almost bruising. 

“Understood?” He asks, and she feels his hot breath against her cheek.

“Let me go,” she orders, proud that she’s able to keep her voice firm. And this time, when she yanks back from him, he lets her go. Unprepared for the lack of resistance, she stumbles backwards. 

Right into Solomon’s outstretched arms. 

“Pardon me,” he says cheerily. “It seems as if a new song has started. Might I cut in?” She can’t see his face, but she’s sure he’s wearing the same disarming smile he always is. Lucifer looks down at her, stony-faced.

“Fine. Eleanor, I’m glad we got to have this little chat.” It’s only because Solomon is there that she feels safe enough to turn her back on him and the way he’s staring at her. 

“You look pale,” Solomon says after a moment, once the music has started again. She takes that to mean that Lucifer has finally left. “Did he say something to you?

“Mm,” she says. “Just the usual death threats. Thanks for the save.” 

“Think nothing of it,” he says, holding her at a respectable distance. “This is the Devildom. When it comes down to it, you’re human, and that makes you different. Never forget that.” She frowns as they take another turn. _As if I could ever forget_ , she wants to tell him, but doesn’t. “You don’t even seem to have the power to command the demons you’ve made pacts with; that puts you in a particularly perilous situation.”

“Then how do I get power?” She asks. He smiles down at her as if she’s just asked the correct question, one he’s been itching to answer. 

“Everyone has some amount of magical power by nature. It manifests in some people, and in others it doesn’t; among those who do manifest it, some are stronger than others. It varies based on the individual. But it doesn’t seem to manifest itself at all within you to begin with. Odd, then, that you were able to form pacts with demons.” It’s the straightest explanation of anything she’s gotten since she found herself in the Devildom, and she’s thankful that Solomon isn’t the sort to dance around answers with riddles. She’s about to express this to him when he opens his mouth to speak again mischief sparkling in his eyes.

“Why don’t I lend you my power? You’re something of a destabilizing element in this world; I can’t say _what_ might happen if I do this, which is exactly what makes it interesting. So, what do you say? Sate my curiosity?” He sounds so much like Asmodeus that she almost laughs in his face.

“Why not?” She finally says, and as soon as the words leave her mouth she’s overcome by a feeling of warmth rushing down her spine and into her extremities. 

“There,” he says, spinning her. It’s not the right sort of dance for a spin, but she goes along with it anyway, laughing with the movement. “I’ve put a spell on you; you’ll have full use of my powers for the next few hours. You should experience that it’s like to control a demon and use his powers.” There’s a meaningful look in his eyes that she can’t decipher, but she doesn’t care. “We _are_ on a retreat, after all. So go, une the opportunity. Have fun; show me what you can do. Just make sure to deliver.” He says the last part lowly, making her grin. She spins away from him, power thrumming in her veins. She can _feel_ it coursing through her with every heartbeat and wonders how anyone could ever get used to it. Asmodeus is the next to capture her, and she has the fleeting thought that he and Solomon might have teamed up to distract her.

“You look radiant,” Asmodeus says into her neck, and to her own surprise she finds that she doesn’t particularly mind the liberties he’s taking.

“I _feel_ radiant,” she breathes, closing her eyes to enjoy the feeling.

“I see Solomon is taking an interest in you.”

“Oh!” Eleanor gasps, and then blushes. “Purely passing interest. I’m not after your boyfriend,” she explains, feeling guilty. 

“Hmm?” Asmodus hums. “Oh, no, that isn’t what I meant at _all_. Actually, I was just thinking of how hot it would be to see us all together. What do you say, hmm? We could all sneak away and—”

Solomon’s magic makes her feel brave, so she places two of her fingers on the demon’s lips to quiet him. “Not tonight. I have a mission, remember?” And because she feels brave and powerful, she places a kiss on her own fingertips just on top of Asmodeus’s lips. His eyes blaze with excitement but she steps just out of his reach and blends into the crowd before he can catch her again. 

She spies the trio of what she’s taken to calling _her_ demons standing to the sidelines and is genuinely surprised that none of them are dancing. Beelzebub is picking food off of a plate, which at least is normal. 

“Hello,” she croons, sidling up to them. “Lucifer threatened to skin me again, and Asmodeus told me he’d make a pact with me if I can get a photo of Lucifer sleeping. I take it they’re in short supply?” She considers plucking something off Beelzebub’s plate but reconsiders when she sees his hard expression. 

“No way,” Mammon says. “It’s impossible.” Leviathan only laughs.

“There’s that plan gone! That was quick.”

“We couldn’t do it last time,” Beelzebub acknowledges.   
“What an ass. Asmo knows it’s impossible but tells ya to do it anyway.” This is directed to Eleanor, who is watching their conversation with interest. 

“I wouldn’t mind going, personally,” Leviathan says slowly, consideration heavy in his voice. 

Mammon scoffs. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”

“I mean, a picture of Lucifer asleep? That’d totally blow up on social media. How about you, Beel? Interested? For a Hellfire-Baked Cheesecake from Madam Devian do the trick?”

“Absolutely,” Beelzebub says with a nod, and Leviathan flashes his brothers and the human a wicked grin.

“That settles it. It’ll be me, Beel, and Eleanor. Just the three of us.”

“Hang on,” Mammon protests once he hears Leviathan’s words. “Who said I wasn’t going?”

“You did,” Beelzebub points out. “Just now.”

“Shut up.” Mammon crosses his arms and looks away from his brother, only to see Eleanor staring at him.

“Aww, pl—Wait. Bend down for a second,” she tells him, and he does, and she doesn’t care if it’s because of Solomon’s magic or not. She raises both hands and cards her fingers through his hair. “ _Please_ , Mammon?”

He’s a blushing, stuttering mess when he stands, scratching the back of his head.   
“F-fine, I’ll go.” Eleanor beams up at him and pats his arm. 

“Man, you’re totally transparent,” Leviathan laughs, and Beelzebub says nothing but watches in amusement. Eleanor leans against the wall and scans the crowd. 

“I do have an idea, but it’s going to require some work. Levi, you idol’s birthday is tomorrow, right? You brought cameras and stuff to participate in the live stream, right?” He nods his head in response to her question, mystified that she’s remembered something from one of his ramblings. “Right. Well, if you don’t mind sparing one of them, I think we can probably set one up in his room tonight and then just get a frame from it, right? We won’t even have to be there while he’s in the room.”

Leviathan considers her words. Normally, there’d be no way he’d agree to sacrifice any of his equipment, but this opportunity is too good to pass up.

“That could work,” he admits, earning him a brilliant smile from her. He blushes at the attention and hides half of his face behind his hand. 

“Great! Then, once he’s had some time to cool down and is distracted, we’ll set it in motion. Until then…” She scans the ballroom again, searching for any sign that Lucifer is still lurking around. He’s there at the edge, standing with Diavolo in all of his winged glory. Eleanor grits her teeth and turns to Leviathan.   
“Dance with me?” She asks, holding out one of her hands. The demon immediately turns red, branched horns dipping as he lowers his head.

“Me? W-why me?”

“Why not?” She asks, eyebrows raised. She wiggles her fingers at him but he only slinks away, looking anywhere but at her. “You don’t have to. I’m not going to make you,” she says softly, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable. Lucifer is _still_ watching, and it makes her skin crawl. 

“May I?” Satan takes her still-outstretched hand, and Eleanor blinks in surprise. He, unlike his brother, actually waits for her to respond.

“Of course.” She lets herself be pulled back out and stares up at his face, searching for some explanation behind his request. 

“Why is it that Lucifer is so interested in you?” Satan asks, holding her gently. He takes care to ensure that the hand at her waist doesn’t touch any bare skin. 

“Interested in beheading me, maybe,” she concedes, searching again for the oldest brother in the crowd. He looks like he might boil over at any minute, so she winks and then ducks behind the safety of Satan’s shoulder. “I might be planning something.”

“Oh?” Satan asks, interest piqued at her confession. She knows he harbors no love for his brother, but is surprised to know that it goes as far as this. “And what would it be that you’re planning?”

“Chaos,” she says with a sweet smile. The confidence Solomon’s magic gives her makes her lips a little looser than she’d have liked, but she pushes the thought aside. She wonders how long ‘the next few hours’ is because it’s showing no signs of dying out. _Not that it’s been that long_ , she thinks. “Say something nice at my funeral, please.”

“You probably shouldn’t talk like that,” he tells her, but not in a tone that makes her think he’s upset. Instead, it’s just a fact. She shrugs and steps away from him. 

“Regardless, I still haven’t forgiven him for everything; I think he’s owed a little headache.” Her answer seems to please him and he nods.

“Always,” he replies with a smile.

They’re interrupted when a demon approaches—one that is unfamiliar to Eleanor, but Satan seems to know her. They exchange pleasantries and Eleanor catches that her name is Metztli; they speak for a moment as if she’s not there at all before Metztli turns to her and smiles.

“May I have a dance as well? Our Lord and the brothers keep you so well locked up that curious eyes have started to wonder if you really exist at all.” Eleanor smiles and takes the demon’s hand, careful not to step on her trailing gown. 

“I’m real! I take up physical space and everything,” she grins. Metztli laughs, a tinkling, delicate noise that doesn’t speak of any irritation at Eleanor’s cheeky words. Her long, braided rope of hair slides form off her shoulder and falls almost to the ground.

“You’re so cute!” Metztli says, and Eleanor gets the impression that she’s just barely resisting the urge to pinch her cheek. When Metztli sweeps her into a dance it’s with the lightest touch possible, as if someone told her humans are made of glass. _Which might not be too far from the truth_ , she thinks, _knowing Diavolo_. She dances twice with the demon, correcting some of her misconceptions about humans—it seems that more than a few demons have a rather dated view of what humanity is like. Based on her expectations, it seems to Eleanor that Metztli hasn’t been to the human world in several hundred years. Not for the first time, she wonders just how old, exactly, her housemates are. But before she can try to pry any information from Metztli, the demon looks up, smiles, and steps away from Eleanor.

“I see one of your keepers is eager to have you back,” she says, and Eleanor dearly hopes it isn’t Lucifer. When she turns around, however, it’s Mammon. But he doesn’t say anything, just stands and stares with his hands on his hips. 

“Dance?” She asks, the corners of her mouth quirking into a smile. Mammon scoffs, but takes the hand she offers him. He takes her hand like she’s forced him to, and even though he’d interrupted the middle of her dance with Metztli, they pick up the steps together. 

“I get why you’d wanna save the Great Mammon for last,” he says, holding her away from him like she might disappear at any moment. 

“Oh? I still haven’t asked Beelzebub,” she teases.

“Oi!” He narrows his eyes at her and pouts.

She squeezes his hand to soothe him and he relaxes just the slightest bit. “But you’re right! We should probably set our trap soon Still…” She looks around to see that Lucifer is, finally, not focused on whatever she’s doing. “I think we have enough spare time to stick around for a bit.” He grumbles something that she thinks sounds like “of course we do,” but she can’t be certain, and then they both fall into silence for a time. 

“You shouldn’t let random demons touch you,” he says, sounding so much like a petulant child that she can’t do anything but smile like a fool.

“Really? I let _you_ touch me,” she says, tilting her head up at him innocently as she steps closer to him. His hand skims low against her back, fingertips brushing against the junction of skin and skirt on her back. His fingers twitch at her words, but he doesn’t move his hand. 

“You keep starin’ at me,” he accuses. 

“Mmhm. Turns out I like the strappy look,” she admits, trailing the hand that was on his shoulder down across his chest, down his sternum and to where the straps on his chest cross. Her eyes watch his face, looking for any overt sign that he wants her to stop; aside from his cheeks gaining a distinct pink tint, he doesn’t do anything to discourage her. He bites his bottom lip, she grins at him. And when she slips a hand under the straps, his face flushes red and he crushes her to him with shaking hands. 

“S-stop it!” He says, a distinct whine creeping into his voice. But he doesn’t let her go, so her offending hand is crushed between her chest and his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If solmare isn't going to let Asmo have any kisses then I WILL.
> 
> Also my outline for this chapter included the phrase "Eleanor is horny on main." 
> 
> ALSO also, any non-canon demon names I use are generally pulled from other sources; Naamah (as a demon) is from the Zohar, and Metztli is from the Satanic Bible, but is originally a deity from Aztec mythology.


	23. Locked Doors

They sneak away from the dance only after Eleanor is sure that they won’t be missed and Lucifer is distracted elsewhere. Leviathan retrieves one of his cameras from his room and rejoins the group just as they make it to the room Lucifer is sharing with Diavolo.

“Time to commence Operation Photograph Lucifer Sleeping,” Mammon says, his voice loud enough to grate on her nerves. But there’s nobody but them in the hallway, at least, and no sign that they’re about to be discovered. She reaches out to the doorknob and twists it.

It doesn’t budge. 

The door is locked. _Of course it’s locked_ , she thinks; it’s only reasonable that the prince would keep his door locked at all times. That doesn’t keep her from being irritated about it, though, even as she tries the handle one more time. She frowns and pulls two pins from her hair, ruining part of Asmodeus’s updo.

“Levi, where is my cheesecake?” Beelzebub asks, making Leviathan pause in his frantic phone typing.

“You’ll get it when we’re done… You know you’re drooling, right?” Leviathan resumes typing, and Eleanor dearly hopes he isn’t broadcasting their activities to all of his followers.

“Bend this,” she hands one of her pins to Beelzebub, indicating where she wants the thin metal bent. He does without question and she smiles at him, then drops to her knees in front of the door. She slides the pin she’s designated as her pick into the lock and bends it to get the right angle. There’s a delicious sort of irony in picking the door to Lucifer’s room with the pins she’s fairly certain came from him, and she wants to savor the moment.

“ _Hey!_ Listen to me when I’m talkin’ to ya!” Mammon says, drawing a glare from Eleanor. “Wait. What’re you doin’?” He asks her, as if just noticing her crouching in front of the door. Her skirts pool around her knees.

“Picking the lock, _obviously_.” She says, one pin in her mouth as she sets up her scheme. “It’ll be too obvious if someone just kicks it in. Now you all need to be _quiet_ so I can hear the tumblers. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

Aside from the slight rumbling coming from Beelzebub’s stomach, all three of them fall to silence, allowing her to work in peace. After a few sweaty-palmed moments of fumbling on her part, there’s the last telltale click of a lock being opened as the last tumbler is lifted into place.

“Ta-dah,” she says, using the door’s handle to pull herself back to a standing position. When she looks at the demons, they all wear different expressions. Beelzebub looks slightly disappointed, while Leviathan’s wide eyes and flying fingers tell her he’s _definitely_ posting about their adventure. It’s Mammon, though, that makes her nervous with the way his eyes gleam.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she tells him, poking his chest with a stern finger. To the other two, she asks “ready?”

Leviathan nods. “Commencing break-in,” he whispers, sounding like he’s imagining himself in a thriller film. She snorts and pushes the door open, stepping into the room with confidence. It’s pitch black, far darker than she would have expected. One of them closes the door behind them, cutting off what little light leaked in from the hallway.

“Beel, get your stomach’s growlin’ under control,” Mammon grumbles, and the sound of shifting fabric tells her that Beelzebub is patting his stomach.

“That didn’t come from me,” he defends himself. “It sounded like it came from somewhere above Levi’s head.” 

“And it smells funny in here. Kinda like saliva and something dead,” Mammon comments, and Eleanor scrunches up her nose. Unfortunately, he’s right. “Kinda reminds me of Cerberus.”

“I was thinking the same thing!” Leviathan whisper-shouts, and Eleanor feels her loose hair being tossed around in a draft. A very localized, warm, _wet_ draft. 

“No way he’d be in here though, right?” His laughs peter out into nervous chuckles as Eleanor feels another hot gust of rancid air. 

“Uh,” she starts, but it’s drowned out by a ferocious growl that rattles her bones. 

“Hallway. Now,” Beelzebub orders, somehow making himself heard over Mammon’s shouting. 

“The door is locked!” Leviathan says in response. Eleanor tries to keep herself very, very still, just in case the thing stuck in the room with them can sense her movement.

“Found a different door,” Mammon grunts, wrenching it open. It isn’t the one they entered through, but she’s glad for any available avenue of escape. When she feels a hand reaching for hers, she doesn’t hesitate to take it. She does make sure, though, to grab the arm of the next nearest brother to drag him along with her. She tumbles out into open emptiness.

And falls.

And _continues_ to fall into the darkness for a much longer time than she thinks is reasonable, all things considered. Her hair whips around her, making her eyes sting. 

“I wish this was a game and not real life,” Leviathan whimpers, and she can hear him beside her. 

“Don’t two of you have wings?” She snaps, fear bringing her irritation to the surface. But before she can hear anyone’s response they all land with a deafening crash and muffled groans of pain. Something—or someone—breaks her fall, bearing the majority of the brunt of their landing. Still, she’s laid flat out on her back, little spots of light dancing in front of her eyes.

“Ow,” she whines, carefully testing each limb to make sure she still has full use of them.

“Oh, _you’re_ in pain? How d’ya think _I_ feel with you on top of me. Get off.” Mammon pushes her off of him and onto the dirty stone floor. The same darkness from before enshrouds them, and Eleanor really wishes Solomon had given her a little crash course in using his powers before sending her off to have fun. _Magic is intention_ , she reminds herself, remembering Satan’s words during her first failed experiment; she concentrates on imagining all of the lit candles from when they were stuck in the labyrinth.

After what feels like an eternity of picturing tiny little flames in her mind’s eye, the candles blaze to life with a little more intensity than she’d hoped for.

“Solomon,” she says by way of explanation when Leviathan looks over to her, confusion written on his face. Some of the candles hang suspended in the air, like she’d been picturing, but some of them...

“Wait a minute…” Beelzebub says, taking in his surroundings. Her stomach sinks.

They’re back in the labyrinth. Expletives fall from Mammon’s mouth; some of them she’s definitely never heard before.

“Anybody remember the way out?” Eleanor asks, exhaustion laced through her voice. _There’s no way I’m ever getting another chance at that stupid photo_ , she thinks. _Well, Belphegor, I tried…_

“It’s a fuckin’ labyrinth, airhead,” Mammon says, his nerves shining through his barbed words. She sticks her tongue out at him, but it goes unnoticed, and struggles to her feet. _Should have changed before we went adventuring_ , she thinks, hiking up her skirts so they don’t drag on the ground too badly. 

“Does anyone hear that?” Beelzebub asks, and Eleanor cants her head to the side to listen better. There’s a faint dragging, slithering noise that sounds like it’s far away but drawing nearer. 

“Henry 1.0,” Leviathan whispers. “Ooooh, no.” The gargantuan snake rounds a corner, and Eleanor holds her breath, willing for it to pass them by. For a moment, it seems as if that is actually what it’s going to do. Until it tastes the air and turns its massive head to look right at them.

Someone screams—she’s not sure who it is—and Beelzebub shouts for them all to run. The few hesitant steps she takes are wobbly-kneed and she almost twists her ankle; she’s not going to be able to get anywhere unless one of them carries her.

 _And that’s hardly going to solve the whole problem_ , she thinks with gritted teeth, turning again to face the snake. It’s moving towards them leisurely, now that one of their number isn’t even trying to flee anymore.

“Hey! What’re you doin'?!” mammon shouts behind her, and she’s surprised to hear that he isn’t still running. 

“Hear me, denizens of the darkness, you who are—who are…” She closes her eyes, scrambling to remember what incantation Solomon used before. But she hadn’t exactly been taking notes, and it’s much longer than the snippet she can remember. “Fuck it. Avatar of Lust! Asmodeus! _Get here right now_ ,” she bellows, closing her eyes and waiting for the original Henry to swallow her up. There’s a sudden, brief change in air pressure that almost makes her ears pop, but when she opens her eyes again, Asmodeus is standing there.

“... Solomon?” The demon asks “Wait—what? No way.” He takes in his surroundings, and then his eyes fall on Eleanor, hair mussed, dress torn, and looking incredibly angry. “How were you able to—”

“No time! Henry’s here!” She barks at him, trying to remember the second part of the incantation. “Denizens of the shadow, I… I call upon you to lend your power to Asmodeus, Avatar of Lust!” 

She’s certain she’s gotten the wording wrong, but that doesn’t seem to matter too much. Asmodeus’s face lights up with manic glee as power rushes through him, his pact bond with Solomon snapping into place. Questions whirl through his mind and he catches Eleanor’s cheeks between his hands, squishing her face. 

“Not even Solomon can draw this sort of power out of me,” he purrs, looking deeply into her eyes as she glares at him. He lets her go before she can get _too_ angry, though.

“Henry, you can _totally_ tell too, right?”

Henry the snake halts, and Eleanor feels like she can breathe a sigh of relief. The snake has eyes for nothing but Asmodeus now, and Asmodeus takes great pleasure in bringing the beast even further under his control. 

“Henry 1.0 is tame again!” Leviathan cheers. He’s also the first to move when his former pet turns to lead them, once again, out of the labyrinth. Eleanor and Beelzebub follow quickly behind. Mammon lingers for a moment, staring between his brother and the human,

“Hold on a second. Asmo hasn’t made a pact with Eleanor. Has he?” The last part is directed to Eleanor, and she only shakes her head in response. “So how’d you summon him _and_ draw his power out like that?” There’s a distinct whine to his voice, and if they hadn’t just fallen who-knows-how far after facing down Cerberus, only to fece Henry 1.0 again, she might have found his concern cute. 

“And not only that, but she’d got _way_ more magical power than he does. Eleanor, dear, what _exactly_ is the story with you, anyway?” Asmodeus turns and walks backwards so he can look at her, and Eleanor only shrugs.

“I don’t actually have magic. Solomon let me borrow some of his to have some fun, and” she gestures to their surroundings. “This is the fun, I guess.” Her answer curls Asmodeus’s lips into a smile, and she doesn’t trust the expression on his face at all. 

“We can finish this conversation back at the castle,” Beelzebub says, not wanting to waste his energy. They’ll have to explain everything to Lucifer anyway, and he sees no use in repeating the entire story for a second time. 

“You all are very lucky that it’s starting to wind down up there,” Asmodeus says. “Perfect for making a grand entrance.”

“Dunno if I’m up for a grand entrance,” Eleanor replies, pausing for a moment to slip off her heels. _Crossing wandering through a castle while wearing a ballgown off my bucket list_ right now, she thinks. _So not worth it_. 

“Of course you aren’t. But _I_ am, and that’s what matters,” Asmodeus says with a smile. Eleanor snorts and hooks her fingers into the straps of her shoes, letting the cold floor soothe the areas on her feet blisters were starting to form at. She glances at her companions; aside from Asmodeus, none of them look like they’re ready for a grand entrance, either. They’re all varying stages of harried. Leviathan, at least, seems to be enjoying himself. She narrows her eyes at his phone.

“Are you streaming this?”

“Don’t be silly,” he responds. “I don’t have service this far down. But as soon as we get in range, it’ll upload. Can’t believe I didn’t think of this the first time.” He pans his phone’s camera around to get more of their surroundings, and when he lands on her, Eleanor blows the camera a sarcastic kiss.

* * *

They’re made to stand in front of Lucifer and Diavolo like errant schoolchildren, which strikes Eleanor as more than a little ridiculous. _Sure, we tried to break into your room, but we didn’t actually_ succeed _, and then we got stuck in the labyrinth. Punishment enough_ , she wants to tell him. But she has enough self preservation instincts to know that this would be a very, _very_ bad idea with the way animosity is rolling off him. 

So instead of doing anything, she stands in the lineup, still barefoot. 

“Currently being reamed out by Lucifer,” she heard Leviathan mutter into his phone, and she can barely suppress a giggle. The magic burned out of her system halfway through the labyrinth, leaving her exhausted and worn out and almost unable to take the situation seriously. Leviathan isn’t helping. 

“It’s all too clear how you got yourselves into this mess,” Lucifer says, sparing Asmodeus a withering glance. “And what’s also clear is that no matter where you go, you _always_ manage to stir up trouble.”

Eleanor shrugs. Beelzebub mumbles something about cheesecake. But it’s Mammon who is ready to sell them all out.

“Just to we’re clear, I _tried_ to stop ‘em! But they were all ‘this’ll blow up on social media,’ and ‘I gotta have my cheesecake.’ And it was Eleanor’s idea in the first place.”

“That’s true,” Eleanor says cheerily, feeling just the slightest bit guilty. Mammon had to be talked into it in the first place, but he’s attracting most of Lucifer’s wrath at the moment. 

“Well, how were we supposed to know that Cerberus was in there?” Beelzebub asks, selecting the one thing Eleanor doubts Lucifer is actually angry about. 

“R-right!” Mammon seizes on the slight change in subject. “I thought that was supposed to be _your_ room.” _Aaaand we’re back_ , Eleanor thinks.

“I cursed the door. If it’s opened without knocking, it transports you straight to Cerberus,” Lucifer says, all traces of humor stripped from his voice. Eleanor winces, hoping she didn’t drop her improvised lockpicking instruments in front of his door. “And,” Lucifer continues, this time looking at Solomon. “It seems that someone very _kindly_ lent his powers to Eleanor. Isn’t that right, Solomon?”

Solomon only smiles at the demon, totally unperturbed. “Amazing! You mean there’s actually someone out there in the Devildom who is _that_ kind? Well, it’s the first time I’ve heard of anyone like that, but they must truly be selfless.” He smiles and turns to Asmodeus. “Isn’t that right, Asmo?”

Lucifer rounds on his younger brother as if he’s just been reminded that he exists and the whole situation resulted from the task he’d handed down to Eleanor. But Asmodeus is unconcerned, focusing all of his attention on Eleanor, who is busy studying the far wall. 

“I have an important announcement to make,” he says, drawing everyone’s attention to himself. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to make a pact with Eleanor.”

He sounds unbearably proud of himself, and Eleanor looks at him like he’s just announced he would be smuggling unicorns into the school.

“But what about the task? I failed.”

“You sure did! But I mean, even if Solomon did lend you his powers, it shouldn’t be possible for someone to draw that kind of raw power out of me, you know? I mean, you’ve got to admit, it’s super impressive! So, I’m making a pact with you. I’ve made up my mind.” He pats her on her head, making her hair even messier. With his other hand he reaches out for her free hand, the one not still holding her shoes. After a moment to let the magic work, he holds her hand up triumphantly; there’s a new ring on her finger.

“Woah! Hang on!” Mammon increases in volume when Asmodeus flashes the pact ring in his face, drawing his eyebrows together in a mark of clear discontent. 

“I’m allowed to do that, right Lucifer?” Asmodeus pivots to face his oldest brother, dragging Eleanor with him Lucifer only looks at the pair with a small frown and then… Looks away. _Does he look… Disappointed?_ She narrows her eyes at him as if that will help her to discern the emotion that flickered over his face. But disappointment isn’t quite the emotion, she decides as they’re dismissed and sent back to their rooms. He’s not pleased, she can tell that much from behind the mask of stoicism and anger he wears. Whatever it is, it doesn’t make her feel good.

 _I’m sorry_ , she wants to tell him. _This is only to help_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend code is 3466248379 if you're looking to add anybody! I have a few open slots; just let me know if you've sent me a request so I can accept.


	24. The Pillow Fight

The bath—once she’s kicked Admodeus out—is the closest thing to heaven she thinks she’s ever experienced, especially after their sojourn in the labyrinth. She considers just staying in the bathroom for the rest of the night but abandons the idea once her fingers start to prune. 

“Asmo,” she starts, rifling through her bag. “Where’s my brush?” He’d been sniffing through her things earlier, which hadn’t bothered her at the time because he didn’t seem like the kleptomaniac Mammon is. So she’s surprised when she turns around to see him holding onto it.

“On the bed, doll,” he says, and her eyes flick over to Simeon, who is peacefully minding his own business in his own space.

“I’m going to brush your hair out.” He smiles, waving her brush at her. “Oh my, what _were_ you thinking?” She rolls her eyes and mutters “shut up” under her breath but says it with a smile. He indicates the foot of her bed and she takes her seat, and he slides in right behind her, wrapping his legs around her own. 

The pretense of brushing her hair is abandoned fairly early, especially since he seems adverse to getting his clothes wet. He places both hands on her shoulders to press her back against his chest—after he tied up her hair to get it out of the way—and then runs one of his hands down her arm until he reaches her hand. 

“Interesting,” he says, holding their hands out in front of them. “Did you know that your ring finger is longer than your index finger? Hmm.” He flips her hand so that the back of it is facing them. “The shape of your thumb nail is _so_ cute. Do you file your nails?” But he doesn’t wait for an answer as he drops her hand to focus on the side of her face. With one hand he traces the line of her jaw; his other hand is busy skimming along her lower ribs. 

“Your ears seem a little on the small side, maybe? But don’t worry; sometimes imperfections can add to the beauty, you know?” It’s this moment that he hits one of her ticklish spots, doubling her over in paroxysms of laughter as she tries to escape his grasp. 

“Come on, there’s no need to be shy,” he coaxes as she hugs herself, trying to defend her sides. 

“You’ve certainly taken quite a liking to Eleanor, haven’t you, Asmo?” Simeon asks, and the reminder that the angel is in the room with them is like cold water to her. She stills, and so does Asmodeus. 

“Well, of course I have. I don’t make pacts with just _any_ human who happens to wander by, you know,” the demon says, and Eleanor relaxes now that she’s not under assault. 

“Still, who would’ve thought that she kept such powerful magic hidden within her? I wonder where it’s been hiding all this time…” Simeon looks at her and she makes contact with him over Asmodeus’s shoulder with a shrug. There’s no reason to doubt the angel or the demon, but she still doesn’t quite believe them or their assessment. She’s completely and utterly devoid of magic; she’s sure of it. Everyone else assured her of that, too, until this evening. 

“That’s what I intend to find out,” Asmodeus says, taking the opportunity Eleanor’s momentary distraction provides him. He slips out from behind her, which makes her fall backwards onto the mattress. In one fluid motion he straddles her, placing his knees on either side of her hips. “We’re going to discover where it’s hiding. I’m going to take it nice and slow, and I’ll be _very_ thorough…” He hooks a finger under the collar of her shirt and tugs down, enough to expose the hollow of her throat.

“You have an audience,” she points out, putting her hands on his chest to push him away. He’s undaunted by her refusal, and instead falls to her side and curls up next to her. 

“Ooh, what do you say we sleep together in your bed tonight? You don’t mind, do you? Of course you don’t.” He ignores her words completely and rests his face on one of his fists. She’s about to tell him that he has his own bed and she would very much like to actually get some sleep tonight, _thank you very much_ , when the door to their shared room is kicked open. 

“Oh no you _don’t!_ ” Mammon shouts, charging over to Eleanor and his brother. “Asmo! What’re you doin’ in _that_ bed? And why are you all cuddled up next to her?” He places one knee on the mattress as he points accusingly at Asmodeus, his tirade clearly not finished. “You’re too close! Get away—get away right now! Far enough that I can’t see you! Go!”

And, as if to ensure that Eleanor would be nowhere near his brother, Mammon grabs her ankle and yanks. She sits up at the sudden movement, and Asmodeus, knowing exactly how to raise his older brother’s ire, hooks his arms under hers, preventing any further movement. 

“Hey!” Eleanor says, feeling once again like a chew toy. She doesn’t like being stuck between two demons, especially not when one is purposefully antagonizing the other.

“So, when you wash yourself, Where do you like to start? Because I like to start with my—”

“Hey! So you’re just gonna _ignore_ me, are ya? I said you’re _too close_ ! Don’t get near Eleanor! And _no_ touchin’! I won’t allow it!” Mammon cuts his brother off, sliding Eleanor further down the bed. He’s gentler this time, at least, but Asmodeus shows no signs of wanting to give up the game of tug-of-war. To further her humiliation, more of the retreat attendees file into the room, drawn by the sounds of shouting

“Wow, it’s loud in here. What’s all the commotion?” Satan saunters in, making the room even more cramped than it was before. Leviathan, at least, doesn’t seem to have his phone out

“Eleanor, Asmo, and Mammon are all in bed together, tangled up in each other and stuff. It’s hard not to fantasize about where this might be heading…” Eleanor feels her face go hot. He’s right of course; it feels like every square inch of her is covered by angry demon, and it’s only getting worse. Mammon continued to inch up on the bed, so one of his hands is placed high up on one of her thighs while the other attempts to push Asmodeus away. Asmodeus has one of his legs hooked around the one Mammon isn’t groping, and is pushing on his brother’s head with the hand that isn’t fisted in the side of her too-large shirt. 

“You are _not helping!_ ” Eleanor snaps, throwing an arm out to point at him accusingly. She’s not expecting _Leviathan_ , of all people, to make a comment like that, and it only serves to heighten her mortification. What’s worse is that she can hear Luke picked up on the comment and is asking questions. 

“Asmo, you bastard! Quit snugglin’ up against Eleanor! Go away, you moron!”

“Excuse me? It’s none of your business who I snuggle up to or get lovey-dovey with, now is it? And your _constant_ yelling about it is annoying, to be honest.” In this instance, she agrees with Asmodeus; the constant yelling _is_ giving her a headache, but he’s party to that as well. 

“I’ll be as annoyin’ as I have to be! Whatever it takes to get you off of Eleanor! Get away, get away, get away!” He very nearly succeeds in prying Asmodeus off of her, but is foiled at the last moment. She almost manages to escape, but is dragged back when Asmodeus, with something to prove, hooks an arm around her waist and growls “oh no you don’t.” She growls in frustration and he pretends not to hear her. 

“Ugh, you never shut up, do you? Anyway, why should I listen to you? Who made _you_ boss?”

“Cause I was the _first_ one Eleanor made a pact with! You’re the fourth demon—the _fourth!_ And so that makes me her first man! So of course you should keep your hands to yourself when I’m around, out of respect!”

“I’m not property!” She snaps, but she’s drowned out by the demons’ bickering. It’s no use; they’re blind to everything but each other in the worst possible way. 

“Excuse me…? Did you seriously just call yourself _first man_? Are you _trying_ to make me laugh? It doesn’t matter who was first. If she didn’t like snuggling with me, then it would be different. But otherwise, what gives you the right to boss me around?”

“Oi, Eleanor, don’t be shy! Let him have it! Tell this numbskull that he’s too close and he needs to back off!

Eleanor freezes now that she has the full attention of what feels like the entire room. They both have a hand on one of her shoulders and she’s half afraid they’re going to tear her in half just to prove a point. Not that she’s really sure what that point _is_. 

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, does he, Eleanor darling? Naturally, you’re _happy_ to have someone as beautiful as me by your side, now aren’t you?”

“Well, I…” She stammers and then pauses, feeling like she might suffocate under the weight of their gazes fixed on her. “I mean, I _do_ like cuddling, but not—”

“I thought so! I love how forthright and honest you are about these things; you’re so adorable. I just want to eat you up, or do,” he rubs his cheek on hers, “ _other things_ to you, as soon as we’re alone again.”

“No! Damn it, stop touchin’ her! I’m never leavin’ you two alone together, never!” And then he yanks on her shirt sleeve. Asmodeus yanks on the other. There’s a ripping noise that’s almost deafening to her ears as her shirt gives in to the abuse heaped onto it by the demons. Eleanor goes very red and then very pale with anger.

“Both of you! _Get! Off! Of! Me! Now!_ ” They both recoil at the fury of her shout and she tries to compose herself, pulling her shirt shut as well as she can. It isn’t torn completely in half, but it’s ripped well enough to make mending it difficult. And she’s immensely grateful that she gave in to intuition and wore a bra under it, if only for modesty’s sake. _I liked this one, too,_ she thinks sadly, looking down at her new neckline. 

There’s a beat of silence. Eleanor takes the opportunity to escape from between them, hurrying over to her bag. 

“Asmo, you _bastard_ ,” Mammon breaks the quiet, lobbing a pillow as hard as he can at his brother’s face. 

“You aimed for my _face_ ,” Asmodeus returns, lobbing another pillow. Behind her, Eleanor can hear Simeon sighing.

“Things are only going to escalate if nobody stops them.” She can barely hear the angel speak over the brothers’ shouting match.

“Then why don’t you do something about it?” Solomon asks, just as Eleanor is narrowly missed by a flying pillow. It hits the wall across from her with a slapping noise; she’s grateful that it didn’t hit her head, but she’s wary of lingering too long in the line of fire.

“Hmm. I want to see where this goes,” Simeon replies, and Eleanor scrambled back from her things just in time to avoid a decorative throw pillow. _I just want another shirt_ , she sobs internally. The other demons seem like they might be a safe harbor, so she scrambles to stand behind them. 

“That’s enough, you two. Stop throwing pillows at each other.” Satan attempts to end the fight, but both brothers ignore him completely. Mammon has devolved into invectives while Asmodeus taunts his vocabulary. 

“It’s no use,” Leviathan notes. “It’s like they can’t even hear us.” He resumed typing on his phone, no doubt, Eleanor thinks, posting it to whatever Devildom social media he’s been posting to all night.

“I told you,” Satan says, stepping towards the flying pillows. ”Stop throwing pillows at—”

He’s cut off when a pillow smacks him squarely in his face. When it falls to the floor, there’s murder in his eyes and rage roiling off of him in an almost tangible manner. For the second time that night, the entire room falls silent.

“Whoops. Didn’t mean to hit ya with that,” Mammon eventually says. He swallows hard as Satan bends over to pick up the projectile that hit him, turning it over in his hands. 

“ _I_ _’m going to kill both of you,_ ” he roars, so loudly that Eleanor jumps, and she’s not even facing him. Even Simeon looks nervous, which Eleanor takes as a cue to find safer ground. Satan joins the brawl, and soon pillows are flying through the air; even Luke joins in when one soars perilously close to Simeon’s head. Seeing that the angel is no longer safe, Eleanor moves towards the next-safest person.

“Solomon, please do something,” she hisses as she hides behind him, using his broad shoulders as a shield. He only laughs at her. “They’re demons; I’m surprised something like this hasn’t happened to you yet.” 

“They are going to _dent the walls_. With _pillows_ ,” she emphasizes her final word with a poke between his shoulder blades.

“Solomon!” Mammon shouts, pointing a pillow at the sorcerer. “You son of a… You think you’re _so great_ because you’re a human like Eleanor, don’t you?” _What does that even mean?_ Eleanor wants to shriek at him, but she doesn’t have any time because Solomon only inclines his head and smiles at the demon.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I take it you’re trying to start a fight with me, Mammon?” A flying pillow is his answer, and Solomon joins the fight as well. He manages to duck the next projectile, but it wings past Eleanor’s head fast enough that the displaced air tugs at her hair. Her patience is shattered. She stalks to the door, turning her head to throw her words over her shoulder.

“You assholes! I’m gonna—Mmph!” She runs into what feels like a solid brick wall in her escape and bounces off, landing on the floor. She stares up at the two newest appearances to the brawl; Lucifer and Diavolo stand just inside the doorway. Lucifer looks down at her with a frown, and she tugs her collar back together with one hand.

“I didn’t start this,” she says quickly. He only sighs and steps over her, and suddenly, Eleanor is trapped within a vast expanse of dark fabric. She scrambles to get her head out from underneath it, and when she stands, the hem of it drags against the floor. It’s large enough that she can wrap herself in it easily, and she does so, feeling the fur at the edge brush against her cheek.

“ _Just what do all of you think you’re doing_?” He roars, and Eleanor is pretty sure she sees the paintings hung on the wall rattling. Diavolo stands beside him and nods his head.

“That’s a good question, yes. Really, I have to say, I’m disappointed.”

“Diavolo, I promise you that I’m going to have a _good_ long talk with them, and ensure that—”

“I mean, a _pillow fight_?” The demon prince asks, aghast. “How could you do something fun like that and yet not think to invite us?” Lucifer pointedly does not turn to stare at his roommate with all of the disgust and disappointment he’s actually feeling. “This is what retreats are all about! Pillow fights! Camaraderie! It’s straight out of the book _Youthful Fun 101_!”

Diavolo turns to Lucifer and throws his arms out in excitement, and Lucifer is forced to focus his attention on him. This creates an opening for Mammon to try and get another hit in on Asmodeus.

He misses.

The pillow bounces off of Diavolo’s auburn hair and falls harmlessly to the floor. For the third time that evening, the room is utterly silent.

“Anyone who dares throw a pillow at Diavolo must _die_ ,” he says, his voice entering what Eleanor thinks of as the ‘dangerously quiet’ territory. He picks the pillow up off of the floor and considers it for a moment before hurling it straight at Mammon’s face. Eleanor is sure it manages to reach terminal velocity before making impact. He falls backwards and doesn’t move, not even when Asmodeus taunts him again. Eleanor covers her mouth with her hands, not liking the way his head lolls back at all. 

“He’s out cold,” Satan announces, and Eleanor relaxes the slightest bit. She hopes that will bring an end to the whole affair. She’s sorely disappointed.

“Anyone brave enough to take a pillow to the face, step forward,” he commands, and Diavolo tosses him more ammunition. A pillow explodes in a rain of feathers on Asmodeus’s face, which only further enrages the lust demon. But the chaos gives her an excuse to slip away from the almost certain death she faces if she stays, so she slinks off to the kitchens. She’s meant to provide breakfast in the morning; she doubts anybody will be getting any sleep anytime soon.

 _Might as well make use of the time_ , she thinks, mentally putting together a menu of items that can be prepared beforehand. One of the little sprites leads her to the kitchens when she asks, and others assist her in finding ingredients in the expansive pantry. There’s French toast for Luke, who loves sweets; assorted quiche for those who don’t want a sugar rush. She’s careful not to get any flour on Lucifer’s coat the whole time.

And when she thinks she hears the commotion from upstairs has died down, she returns.

* * *

They all agree to never speak of Solomon’s cooking again. 

When she wakes in the morning—crushed between demons and the only other human in one of the two remaining beds—she’s not expecting the rest of her day to unfold the way it does. She’s one of the first to wake, so she stretches and slides out of the oppressive body heat thrown off by her bed partners. Lucifer’s coat, which she’s accidentally slept in, she folds and places safely on the dresser for him to reclaim whenever he returns. 

She creeps back down to the kitchen and finishes what she began the night before. Solomon follows not long after, looking like he hadn’t just spent the whole night and early morning in an intense pillow fight with demons; she wonders how he does it.

But even more, she wonders when the last time he’s cooked was. She watches as he mixes up salt and sugar, and he declines her help when she offers. 

_Fair enough_ , she thinks. _Maybe it’s payback for last night?_

It isn’t.

He eats his own food with a straight face, which is probably the greatest feat of strength she’s seen in her entire life. Even Beelzebub looks like he might be sick, which is truly impressive. Only Asmodeus is truly brave enough to call it out for as bad as it really is, but Solomon doesn’t seem to be bothered by it too much.

 _When was the last time you even ate regular human food?_ She wants to ask him, her curiosity piqued. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where things are going to diverge ever-so-slightly from the game timeline. Don't get me wrong, everything with the body-switch IS going to happen. It's just going to take slightly longer to get there so we can flesh a few other things out instead.


	25. Not a Date

Asmodeus steals her away after class before anyone else can. With a wink and a finger over his lips, he bids her to be silent as he leads her away from the campus. 

“Where are we going?” She asks once they’re far enough away that she thinks she can get away with speaking.   
“Secret,” he says. “We just need to get far enough away before that moron realizes you’re missing.” There’s no mistaking who he means; he’s still irritated about the pillow fight incident and the fact that someone actually managed to hit his face. Naturally, all of his blame falls upon Mammon. 

“The last time you took me out for a surprise didn’t end so well, if you remember,” she points out, but they don’t seem to be heading in the direction of Majolish; at any rate, she can’t see the huge building on the horizon. She does note, however, that they seem to be in the shopping district of the town.

“We didn’t have a pact then,” he points out, guiding her into a store. “But now that we do, we have to make sure you’re presentable, right?”

“You don’t have to do that,” she demurs, a little nervous about what his idea of being presentable entails. 

“I know!” He exclaims, holding a jacket up to her to see how it brings out her eyes. He puts it back on the rack almost immediately. “But that’s what makes me so amazing. Besides. It’s only right that I replace your wardrobe if I”m going to be tearing off of you so often.”

She laughs, which isn’t quite the reaction he was looking for. But still, she’s smiling, which is what he thinks looks best on her. He piles clothes into her hands and then, just before she’s overburdened, spins her in the direction of one of the dressing rooms. She’s in there for much longer than he thinks is strictly necessary, and he’s about to demand that she come out when the door opens.

“Why do I need _this?_ ” She asks, gesturing to the slinky black dress she found in the pile. She likes it because she does like pretty things, but no matter how hard she tries to come up with a reason for it, she comes up blank.

“Tonight, of course,” Asmodeus says, snapping a quick photo of her disgruntled face. “You have a date.”

She laughs at him again and retreats into the dressing room. “With whom?”

“With Lucifer, of course,” Asmodeus says casually, smiling to himself when he hears the thump of her dropping shoe in surprise. 

“Since when?” Her voice is squeakier than she would have liked it to be, betraying her surprise. She emerges, once again wearing her school uniform; she feels safer in it, and his teasing has ruined the mood. He takes the pile of clothes from her hands and selects his personal favorites, leaving the rest for someone else to take care of.

“Since a little while ago, of course. Didn’t you say you’d go with him?” He bids her to follow him to the register, where he continues their conversation, heedless of anyone else listening in. 

“But—” She’s completely forgotten about that, the chaos of the retreat having clouded almost everything else. 

“I _might_ have snuck a peek into his planner. He has you penciled in for tonight.” Asmodeus hands her bag after bag of his spoils until her hands are full and she can barely see over them. _Penciled me in?_ She rolls her eyes at the thought and follows behind the demon as he continues speaking. 

“Remember, pride is his thing. You’ve done a good job of riling him up so far and making yourself seem like an interesting conquest—”

“ _Excuse me_ ,” she tries to interject, not liking the way his mind is working. _Sure, he’s pretty, but…_ She can’t make herself think of him in the context Asmodeus is speaking in. Especially since he’s never talked about her in any sense but duty—it was his duty to step in and saver her from Leviathan, and it’s his duty to make sure she doesn’t wind up killing herself in some stupid way during her stay. _And that’s it_. 

“But if you really want to get him, you’re going to have to be a little more submissive. Oooh, you _have_ to give me all of the details later. What kind of lover he is, if he’s an animal or not—”

“I really don’t think this is that kind of dinner,” she interrupts him with a frown. “This is some weird form of apology that I should never have accepted.” Asmodeus only humors her with a smile, and no matter what she says on the way back to the House of Lamentation, she can’t get him to explain his thought process. _It probably doesn’t go beyond him being the Avatar of Lust_ , she consoles herself, but the thought does little to help settle her nerves. 

“You shouldn’t be worried about going out, if that’s the problem,” Asmodeus says once they’re in her room. He’s putting her things away and she’s fruitlessly attempting to focus on homework. “Of course, there are plenty of demons who want to kill you and bring an end to the program, but if that’s what you’re worried about, don’t be. He’d never let that happen. Besides, those around you are carefully… curated.”

Eleanor’s mouth drops open and she turns to stare at him. He’s not even looking at her, too busy smoothing wrinkles out of an article of clothing she hadn’t even bothered to try on. She’s surprised it came home with them.

“I wasn’t worried about it until you _said something_ ,” she tells him. In truth, she’s almost forgotten about her perilous position in the Devildom as an exchange student. The greatest threats to her well being have, so far, come from within the house; the few antagonistic demons at RAD so far haven’t actually tried anything. The thought that those allowed anywhere near her social circle in the Devildom were those who found humans patronizingly cute shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is to her. She thinks back to Naamah and her assistants, who cooed over her like a prized pet. It makes her grit her teeth, and she’s about to tell off Asmodeus when her phone vibrates.

“You were right,” she says, staring at the message in horror. “Lucifer is taking me out to dinner. In half an hour.” Her face blanches and she tears her face away from her phone to look up at Asmodeus, who smiles smugly at her. He’s holding the dress he selected.

“Have fun,” he says as he drapes it on her bed. She pushes him out of her room with a grumble and then locks it for good measure, just in case. 

Still…

She looks over to her bed at the outfit he’d picked out and runs her hand over the fabric speculatively.

* * *

He takes her not to Ristorante Six, which she’d been expecting, but to somewhere else entirely. It looks smaller. Quieter. More exclusive. It’s styled almost like a crypt, but an elaborate and, thankfully, very clean one. 

“Asmodeus,” she explains as she shucks off her coat and hands it to the attendant. Lucifer’s raised eyebrow lowers in understanding and he nods once, leading her into the grand dining room of the restaurant. She’s relieved to see that it’s neither cozy nor romantic, which helps to set her at ease. _Suck it, Asmodeus_ , she thinks smugly. And when he pulls out her chair for her, she knows it’s just him being polite. 

He orders for both of them and she’s pleased with her ability to understand most of what he says in the native tongue. She’s sure that her order is something safe for humans and doesn’t protest it, not even when Asmodeus’s words ring in her head and almost make her scowl. 

They’re both silent for what feels, to Eleanor, like an unreasonably long time. She tries not to stare at him, but with the dim light all around them, there’s not much else to look at. Finally, picking at her appetizer, she decides to say something. 

“I’m sorry,” is what she settles on, even though the impetus behind the dinner is that it’s meant to be _his_ apology to _her._ He gives her another one of his looks that tells her he’s not amused by something, but she can’t figure out what. 

“Whatever for?” He asks her, and she feels like she’s being quizzed. She doesn’t have an answer, so she pokes at her food more and tries not to look like she’s trying to search for an acceptable answer. 

“I’ve caused a lot of problems,” she finally says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. That much is true, at least, even if she thinks that at least some of them were indirectly caused by him.

“You have,” he agrees, and she kind of wishes he hadn’t agreed so quickly. 

“In my defense, you did assign Mammon to me. Chaos was pretty much guaranteed,” she points out. He shoots her a withering look and she almost laughs at him not because she thinks it’s funny, but because he looks so genuinely disappointed. _Probably in me_ , she thinks. 

“Truce?” She holds out a hand for a handshake to seal the agreement. He looks at her, then at her hand, and then at her face again; she feels like she’s messed up again, somehow, even though she doesn’t know what she did wrong. He looks at her from over his glass of wine and offers her a sardonic quirk of his lips, not quite a smile.

“We were never at war,” he tells her, and she pulls her hand back slowly, considering his words. She’s out of her element, now; she’s used to having little sniping comment fights with him, used to dancing around his cold temper—whether it’s directed at her or not—and she’s not confident at all that his almost-smile means good things for her. 

“Good to know,” she says, placing her hand back on her lap. _Although I think calling it war is a little excessive_. Something, she feels, has shifted in whatever dynamic they have. Just barely. Almost imperceptibly. But it has, and he seems… _Pleased?_ She tries out the word and it doesn’t ring false.

“You know,” she starts, looking for something—anything—to keep the conversation going, to try and dissect what, exactly, has changed. A sacrifice is required, she knows; _maybe an even exchange?_ But he’s speaking at the same time.

“How are you enjoying your time in the Devildom, so far?” He asks, and she’s taken aback by the question. He pours her a small glass of wine and hands it to her. “Human world wine,” he indicates when her fingers wrap around the stem.

“Another report for Lord Diavolo?” She asks, sitting the glass beside her plate. His “hmm” in response doesn’t actually answer her question, but she leans back and considers what he’d asked. Without Diavolo or the angels around to overhear her answer, she can be honest.

“It’s…” she takes a shallow sip of her wine for courage. “Busy. Exciting. Illuminating. Take your pick. But honestly? It doesn’t feel real,” she confesses. She considers telling him that despite the crush of people around her constantly, she still feels lonely. But she throws the thought out; she’s decided that emotions are firmly off the table with everyone in the Devildom. Stupid, harmless flirting, teasing, friendships are all fine. _I can’t afford to get too close or let them get too close_ , she thinks, and spears something on her plate with her fork. _Because this whole adventure might as well not actually be real_.

He sees the way she presses her lips into a flat line and knows that there’s something she isn’t saying; it’s painfully obvious, and he wonders if she’s even trying to disguise it. 

“It has been brought to my attention that perhaps you have people in your own world who will be missing you,” he says, not adding that the person who reminded him is Simeon. “Friends? Family?” He does not ask about a lover, and would deny interest if asked. She frowns at him sharply and then looks back down at her plate.

“What family? Wasn’t that in your file?” She asks, and her words are more bitter than she means for them to be. “No, nobody’s going to go looking for me. Not for a long time, not if my apartment has been cleared out.” She works her jaw in anger and then reminds herself that she shouldn’t even _be_ angry, that he was genuinely trying to be helpful. Caring, even, in his own stilted way. His expression turns icy and she sighs, twisting her fingers together in her lap to keep from running them through her hair.

“Look, the only one keeping track of me up there is the state, and I’m about to not be their responsibility anymore. Are there people that will worry about me? Sure. But they won’t for months. I’ve burned some bridges,” she admits, and then drains the glass beside her to distract herself. When she places it back down on the table she feels a little calmer. “Can we change the subject?”

He ignores the ferocity of her outburst as if it hasn’t happened at all, which she’s grateful for. But what she wants more than anything is to go back in time a few seconds to keep her own mouth shut. She knows—has always known—that the subject of family is one of her weak spots. Unfortunately, Lucifer seems uniquely skilled at hitting it and making her lash out. _I’ll have to work on that_ , she decides. 

“Please explain to me how it is that you know so much about picking locks,” he demands, the _please_ doing nothing to mask his words as a request. “Your file said nothing about a criminal record.”

She raises a hand to her mouth so he can’t see her laughing at him and tries to compose herself. 

“Just what _is_ in that file of yours?” She asks, laughing this time, and then clears her throat. “No, I don’t have a criminal record. The story isn’t nearly as exciting as I think everyone is guessing. Do you _really_ want to know?” A nod is her only response. But he’s offering to help her change the subject, which she’s grateful for, and she hopes her answer will bring some levity back to the evening. 

“In one of my high school art classes, we were always running out of paper towels, and they were kept in the facilities closet. Except the only people with the key were the facility staff members, and they were hard to get ahold of when you needed them, so…” she shrugs. “I learned how to pick the lock so I could just go and get supplies. Nothing really nefarious. Don’t tell your brothers, though, because I think I’ve tricked some of them into thinking I’m cool.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she affirms. “I told you it wasn’t exciting.”

They pass the rest of the dinner in carefully light conversation, making sure not to stray near anything of meaning. She reports that she’s doing well in classes, and he speaks further of Diavolo’s plan for unification for the three realms. It’s all something she’s heard before, but Asmodeus intrudes into her thoughts again. 

“What about the people who _don’t_ want to see it succeed, though I know you said that the accord between the Devildom and the Celestial Realm has to be kept quiet because someone might act to sabotage it, but what about a demon who just doesn’t like humans or angels?” She strays back into meaningful conversation without really meaning to, her curiosity once again getting the better of her. “Someone said you—the collective you, not _you_ , you—are keeping me under lock and key. But not Solomon, or Luke, or Simeon. Why choose someone like me if I’m just going to be a lot of trouble?”

As far as she knows, neither of the angels have demonic guardians. Simeon, based on snippets of conversation she’s had with him, regularly goes wandering about town when the fancy strikes him. And Solomon is Asmodeus’s charge, but rarely seems to need the protection. 

“Asmodeus lobbied for Solomon to be selected,” Lucifer says after a moment of thought, halfway answering one of her unspoken questions. “And Diavolo wanted someone who was, according to his words, ‘authentically human’ to be selected for the last spot.” He very carefully does not answer her other unspoken question, the one asking why she, specifically, was selected. She lets it go, deciding that she doesn’t want to push him any further.

“Authentically human is a nice way of saying utterly boring,” she replies, flashing him a grin. 

“I wouldn’t say boring.” His answer is almost cryptic, and if he were any of his other brothers, she might tease him about what he really means. Instead, she declines dessert when he offers and accepts his hand when he extends it to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I have the song "Popular" from the Wicked OBC stuck in my head when bulleting the first part of this chapter? Yeah, absolutely.


	26. Scheming

“You are not to leave the House for the time being,” he tells her, and she wants to scream. All of her foolish thoughts of being _friends_ with Lucifer are forgotten in the moment. He doesn’t even look at her as he hands down the order.

“Any particular reason?” She keeps her voice even in a cool facsimile of his own.

“Yes. But you will comply without knowing it.” Eleanor breathes heavily through her nose and counts backwards from ten, trying to rein in the acerbic words she wants to toss his way. She wants to remind him that keeping things from her has, so far, only landed her in more trouble than if he’d just given her the vital information. She can _guess_ , of course, that there’s something dangerous to her lurking around outside, especially since she’s already overheard that Diavolo was hosting some other noble demons at his castle for the next few days. But guesses can only ever get her so far. 

“What about classes?” Her hands are on her hips; if she has to spend days cooped up in the House of Lamentation she’s sure she’ll crack, no matter how much space there is to explore. 

“ _I_ will accompany you. My brothers have a tendency to let you… wander.” He says it as if it’s distasteful, a small frown on his lips. “Regardless, you will not be leaving my side for the time being. Diavolo will be otherwise occupied, which means that I will be picking up his slack. You will assist me.”

 _So much for being the team mascot_ , she thinks, glaring at him. But he’s already turned his attention back to his paperwork as if she’s not even in the room with him.

“Fine. Whatever,” she finally grits out, spinning on her heel. The battle has already been lost, and there’s not much she would be able to do to shift the tide in her favor, anyway. But the limitation on her already limited freedom rankles, and she slams his study door behind her. _If he’s going to treat me like a child, then I’m going to_ act _like a child_. It’s an easy decision to make, all things considered. And, with her options limited because the demons in the House of Lamentation are actually allowed to have a social life, she knows _just_ who to rope into her scheme.

She finds him, unsurprisingly, in the library, face buried in a book. Satan doesn’t even look up at her entrance, though she tries to make it obvious; she waits for a few moments for him to acknowledge her, but it doesn’t happen.

“Hey,” she interrupts him, and he gives her a look over the pages of his book that tells her whatever she has to say had better be interesting. “We’re friends, right?”

He blinks once. Twice. And considers her question. After a long pause, he says “... Acquaintances.”

She lets out a frustrated sigh that makes her cheeks puff as she crosses her arms.

“Good enough. Let’s play a prank on Lucifer.” And _those_ worse certainly have his attention. He marks his place in his book and puts it down on the couch beside him, interest piqued. “It doesn’t have to be anything big. Just deeply annoying. Like…” she pauses and looks around them for inspiration, chewing on her lower lip. “Reorganizing his record collection. What do you say to a random order with switched sleeves?” Satan smiles at her.

“I think that’s an inspired idea,” he says, making Eleanor laugh. She follows him to the music room, where a vast majority of his records are kept; his favorites are safeguarded in his room, which is currently occupied. But she’s seen him select from the others enough to know that at some point, he’ll stumble onto the prank. 

“Jazz?” She asks, holding up one of the albums. It looks ancient; she hopes it isn’t an original print. Just in case, she handles it gingerly. The intent is to be annoying, not destroy personal property. 

“That one is shared,” Satan says, plucking it from her grip. “I’d like to be able to find it, later, so let’s leave it alone.” She watches as he stands and pulls off the record sleeve, then places it on the phonograph and fiddles with the needle. Sound crackles out from the horn for a moment before settling into something recognizable as music. It isn’t bad; it also isn’t anything that she would have selected herself, but she can appreciate it. 

Satan takes great joy in mixing up the genres and composers, making an art of arranging his chaos. 

“You surprised me,” Satan says once they’ve run out of records to rearrange. “At the retreat, when you knew how to dance.” She leans back and admires their handiwork.

“Humans do sometimes know some things,” she says. “But if you’re asking _how_ , then that’s easy. I was friends with the theatre kids in school, and I’d help them practice before hell week rolled around.” If he doesn’t understand her terminology, he doesn’t show it; instead, he switches the records to something else that she doesn’t recognize. It sounds like something to dance to, though, so she’s unsurprised when he holds a hand out to her and helps her to her feet.

“Dance?” He asks, and Eleanor looks at him with suspicion. 

“I think I’m all danced out for the next eighty years,” she says. “At least, as far as ballroom dancing goes. Last time it ended in getting chased by a giant snake.”

“And forming a pact with yet another one of my brothers,” he points out, and Eleanor nods. _So that’s what this is really about_ , she thinks, relieved that she knows where the conversation is going now. “Just why _are_ you so interested in pacts, hm? Unless Solomon plans on being _very_ generous, you don’t have enough power to really command anyone.” The smile falls from her face and she leans away from him.

“That’s true,” she acknowledges, pulling her hand from his. She considers just telling him about Belphegor in the attic, and then considers that he’s the Avatar of Wrath and Belphegor said there would be bloodshed. She frowns. “I want respect,” she finally says, and Satan looks at her like he doesn’t quite believe her.

“From whom?”

“Everyone?” She tries, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Diavolo. Lucifer. I’m not as powerful as any of you, and I never will be, but that doesn’t mean that I want anyone to treat me like a child.”

This seems to satisfy his curiosity and he nods at her words.

“That’s understandable, even if it is in vain. Lucifer respects nobody but Diavolo and himself.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try,” she counters, watching his face for any tells. But he’s almost impassive as Lucifer himself and she gets nothing from him—until he looks behind her to the doorway of the music room.  
“Just what are you two doing?” Lucifer asks, and Eleanor winces. She’s glad she hasn’t mentioned Belphegor or anything even close to her actual motivations behind the pacts. 

“We’re scheming,” she says sweetly, turning around to pin Lucifer with a bright smile. Behind her, Satan covers his mouth to hide his smile from Lucifer. Lucifer frowns at the human and ignores his brother’s mirth at her words.

“I see. I have business to conduct; see to it that this _scheming_ doesn’t involve you leaving the house,” he orders Eleanor, offering no further words to the other demon in the room. He leaves them then, and Eleanor scowls.

“See?” She asks, pointing to where Lucifer has just been standing. 

* * *

With Satan ensconced in his room and the house otherwise empty, Eleanor braves the attic stairs once more. She promised she’d return to see him at some point, and so far, has not been able to keep that promise. Belphegor is asleep, perhaps unsurprisingly, when she stands in front of the sealed door. 

“Hey,” she says, loud enough that he can hear her but not loud enough that she thinks Satan downstairs can hear her. Her voice echoes slightly in the empty space, and Belphegor cracks an eye open. 

“You woke me up,” the demon says, looking at her balefully through the dark sweep of his hair. She settles against the wall, now that she has his attention. “I didn’t think you’d be coming back.”

“Well, I did,” she says, stretching her legs out as she sits. Belphegor walks across the attic so he can sit right on the other side of the door. She holds up her hands so that the low candlelight catches her pact rings, making the newest one glint warmly. “I have a pact with Asmodeus,” she says without any enthusiasm. 

“How did you manage that?” Belphegor asks, focusing on the rings on her hand. He only looks at her again when she lowers her hands and crosses her arms, hiding them from his view.   
“I stumbled into it, honestly,” she admits, not looking at him. Something about his gaze unnerves her; maybe it’s that his eyes are similar in appearance to Beelzebub’s but hold none of the same warmth. 

“So that leaves Lucifer and Satan. You won’t be able to _stumble into_ pacts with them, you know,” he warns, watching her expression for any signs of giving up. She only shrugs instead, still refusing to look at him. He doesn’t mind; it allows him a greater opportunity to study her. She’s nothing special, he decides. The _only_ remarkable thing about her is that somehow, despite the humanity that rolls off of her, she’s managed to form pacts with most of his brothers. 

“Yeah, I know.” She runs her fingers through her hair and frowns. “I wasn’t planning on just walking up and _asking_.”

“What _is_ your plan?” He asks, and this makes her actually look at him. She’s still frowning, her brows tugged together in consternation. He remains largely impassive, even though he is somewhat amused by her distress. 

“I don’t know,” she says, pulling her knees up to her chest. “But I’ll figure it out. You’ll get your chat with Lucifer.” He smiles darkly at her, and she waits for him to say something in response. When he doesn’t she sighs again. It doesn’t feel like a productive use of her time, but she doesn’t particularly want to leave him alone. He seems to spend most of his time sleeping, which she doubts is terribly healthy; she’s not sure how she would handle being locked up in a single room for who knows how long. She’s only been in the Devildom for a few weeks, but based on how everyone spoke about Belphegor, she thinks that he’s probably been locked up for far longer. 

“You’d better leave before you’re missed,” he dismisses her when she has nothing else to say. She doesn’t tell him that Satan is the only one in the house, as far as she’s aware, and he’s busy doing something else. 

“Do you want me to come back?” She asks, not sure if she should. He considers her question and surprises himself by nodding. 

“When you can. I want updates.”

“Sure,” she says, and leaves him behind. He watches her go for a moment and then looks at the space she’d just recently been occupying.

* * *

As if summoned by her proximity to his twin, Beelzebub is the one to seek her out next. She’s lounging in the living room when he walks in, a concerned expression on his face until he gaze falls on her. She sits up and smiles in return, mirroring his expression.

“Come and work out with me,” he says, looming above her, as if he’s heedless of the time or the fact that humans need to sleep. “I got a sudden burst of energy and I need to work it out.”

“There is absolutely no way I’ll be able to keep up with you,” she says with a laugh, standing and knowing she’s going to follow him anyway. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you there?”

He nods and she skips off to her room to get changed; Asmodeus, she discovers, snuck some intriguing pieces into her wardrobe. She holds one of them up and wonders if she dares to meet Beelzebub wearing it. _Would it be considered teasing?_ She wonders briefly, before deciding that it wouldn’t be. _I’m probably the only one close to getting their feelings hurt,_ she thinks, and worries her lip as she looks at her clothing options.

In the end, she joins him in the gym wearing the baggiest things she can find, having decided that flirting is all well and good until it gets _dangerous_. And Beelzebub, she knows, is fully in that category. He’s not like Asmodeus, who teases as easily as he breathes simply because she has a pulse. 

“I feel really good about the game coming up and I wanted to share that with you,” he says, already working through the energy that he’d mentioned earlier. It feels like he’s just punched her in the chest as his words sink in. _So dangerous,_ she thinks, feeling heat creep up her neck. _So, so dangerous_. “My brothers are coming, but I wanted to ask you to come, too.”

She immediately pushes Lucifer’s order out of her mind; she nods and promises to be there and tries to retreat to the other side of the room. 

“I need you to be a spotter,” he says, drawing her back over closer to him. She eyes the weight he’s added to the bar.

“You _do_ know a spotter is supposed to be able to catch the weights if something goes wrong,” she teases. “There’s no way I’ll be able to do that.” He looks at her as if he hasn’t considered that yet, but prepares himself to lift anyway.

“That’s fine. Just stay close.”

 _Oh no. No, no, no, no._ She sucks in a breath and tries to keep her heart from hammering in her chest. _The second someone says something even remotely cute, I’m done_. Her cheeks feel hot when she covers them with both of her hands and she looks up at the ceiling before he reminds her (again) that she’s supposed to be his spotter. 

“You’re so unfair,” she pouts at him, and then refuses to look him in the eyes when he loses focus on his weights. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this like four times and I'm still not happy so I gave up!


	27. Foundling

Diavolo, she thinks, needs to find a new right hand man. Or at least another one. When Leviathan drops her off at the student council room, Lucifer looks like he’s drowning in the extra work. He barely looks up at her when she sits down across from him, and doesn’t say anything at all when she takes one of the stacks of paperwork. It’s incredibly dull stuff—something about club funding requests for a spirit week, other paperwork regarding someone smuggling their familiar into their shared room—little things that she tries her best to handle in the way she thinks Lucifer might. The one thing that she feels very confident filling out is a report on how she’s experiencing the Devildom so far.

 _Turns out that wasn’t a lie_ , she thinks, smiling softly down at the paperwork. It’s more of a booklet than anything, and she wonders how many of these he’s had to fill out. It seems like a biweekly thing at least, based on how often he’s asked after her wellbeing. _I’m hardly interesting enough to fill out so many pages_ , she thinks, and adds more to each answer just so that the report doesn’t suddenly drop in quality. She might be boring, but she has no doubt that Lucifer is relentless in making sure everything he does is perfection. 

Still, when he hand starts to cramp and her handwriting becomes sloppier, she wonders why they don’t just switch things over to the computers they clearly have. Surely, it would save time. And hand cramps. She massages her wrist and drops her pen, and Lucifer seems happy enough to use her human weakness as an excuse to end his work as well. 

“Mammon is meant to be cooking dinner tonight; let’s ensure he’s fulfilling his duty, shall we?” He asks, and Eleanor covers her mouth to hide her laugh. It’s not that the Avatar of Greed is a terrible cook, she’s discovered. It’s just that he tends to get… distracted when he’s in the kitchen, typically resulting in pots boiling over or burned edges that only Beelzebub can really stomach. 

“Probably,” she says because he’s waiting for an answer. This, at least, seems to satisfy him.

The walk back to the House of Lamentation is mostly quiet. Lucifer stands tall beside her, but doesn’t seem to be particularly vigilant to her—at least, not any more that he usually is. Not for the first time, she wonders if he’s not just making the threat seem more severe than it really is; after all, the Devildom is dangerous for her in general. He keeps reminding her of that, and even if it is an exaggeration (she doesn’t think it is), and even though he almost killed her before (which she has mostly forgiven, but not forgotten), she kind of likes the idea that someone is looking out for her. Even if that someone—or multiple someones—is a demon. 

She’s mulling over that thought and how she would have thought herself crazy for thinking it just two months ago when they step through the front door. It is almost suspiciously quiet, and Lucifer stalks off to the kitchen to make sure it’s still standing. As soon as he’s gone, Satan approaches her. His uniform jacket is slightly undone and she wonders if _that_ is the reason behind the expression on his face.

“This is an emergency. You’re the only one I can ask for advice,” he says, and Eleanor feels herself being drawn into his emergency. Satan pulls her aside and places a finger over his lips, urging her to be silent. He’s so solemn and serious about it that she lets herself be drawn along, all the way up to his room. 

“What’s going on?” She whispers, wondering if there’s something magical afoot that will be impacted by any noise she makes. He shakes his head and reaches into his jacket, pulling something small and fluffy out from the warmth of his chest. She coos and leans closer to the tiny kitten in his palm.

“I found it outside; no mother in sight, no indication that it has an owner. It looks like it isn’t all that old,” he says, drawing a gentle fingertip across its tiny face. The kitten’s eyes are still blue, indicating that it’s still very young. She gasps and reaches out to it, smoothing some of its ruffled fur with two of her own fingertips.

“Poor thing,” she whispers again, not wanting to disturb it. It blinks up at her and emits a small, reedy whine. “You’re taking it in, right?”

“As a demon, I have my doubts as to how far I should intervene,” he says, cupping the kitten in his palms to keep it warm. “How troubling.” She grins up at him and her hands hover around his, wanting to hold the kitten but not wanting to take it from his grasp.

“Well, luck for you, there’s a human living in your house. We’re kind of notorious for intervening where we maybe shouldn’t.” And her words carry with them a sense of irony that she takes private delight in. She holds out her hands and wiggles her fingers, asking without words. He deposits the kitten into her hands and she wraps her fingers around it, feeling its barely-there weight. “I’m going to name it,” she decides.

“Do _not_ name it,” he orders. “We won’t be able to keep it. This is just until we figure out what to do with it.” She pouts up at him and holds the kitten up beside her face.

“Well, we can’t just keep calling the kitten _it_. He’ll get a complex. Isn’t that right?” She coos the last part at the kitten, and Satan realizes he’s already lost the battle. “Did you get any food for it? Do you have any extra towels or blankets or anything? Is there a box or somewhere we can keep it warm?” She launches her questions at him in a rapid-fire volley that makes him blink in surprise. 

“I will have to run errands,” he says eventually, making a mental list of the things she’s said. The kitten mewls and she holds it closer to her, blissfully happy.

“Good! Oh—” her joy dims for a moment. “The kitten will probably have to stay in your room. I have too many surprise visitors in mine, and I get the feeling that Lucifer doesn’t want us to have a pet.” She frowns and runs a thumb down the kitten’s back, readjusting it so it doesn’t tumble from the safety of her palms. “We have to keep you secret, don’t we?”

The kitten moves towards the sound of her voice. Satan only nods, wondering if he’s created a monster.

“Perhaps that would be advisable. But I _am_ expecting you to help care for it until we figure out what to do with it. You’re allowed in here to do that, of course, just… Don’t touch anything.” He gestures to his stacks of books and magical artifacts, and she nods seriously as if commanded from on high. 

“Babies like this need fed every few hours,” she says, still holding the kitten to her chest. “I’d go with you to pick things up, but…” she wrinkles her nose in distaste, and Satan remembers the orders Lucifer handed down to her. 

* * *

She makes it through dinner with the rest of the brothers, but she’s unable to keep up with their conversation; her mind is on the kitten in Satan’s room, hidden behind a stack of books and kept warm with a little fire charm the demon conjured up. Satan doesn’t seem nearly as distracted as she does; _but then_ , she thinks, _he might be used to taking care of tiny animals_. The thought almost makes her laugh into her food, but she hadn’t missed the care he’s handled the kitten with, or the way he readily sacrificed a portion of his room to turn into a kitten-safe area.

“I’ve decided on a name,” she announces to Satan once Lucifer has come and gone on his room checks. He looks up at her from his book and frowns at her, but doesn’t tell her off for her interruption. She fills a small syringe with the kitten milk Satan found and holds it out for him to heat up. The kitten rests in the pocket of her oversized sweater, luxuriating in the warmth but impatient for food, again. He pinches the syringe between his fingers and holds it for a few moments until it reaches an appropriate temperature.

“And?” He prompts her when she falls silent, absorbed in the task of trying to feed the wiggling kitten. She spares him a glance before looking back to the kitten with a soft smile.

“Damien,” she tells him, sounding proud of herself. 

“Strange name for a kitten,” he tells her. He’s been expecting her to put some of her classes to use and name it after one of the great hellcats of the Devildom army.

“Not at all! It’s my demon baby, see?” She pulls the plastic syringe away from the kitten so it can swallow and she holds it out for Satan’s inspection. He looks at her with a frown, not liking the fact that she clearly knows something he doesn’t. Her explanation is nonsensical to him. She catches his expression and her smile freezes.

“Really? You’ve never seen _The Omen_? I mean, it’s not a very _good_ film, but…” She shrugs, jostling the kitten so that it mewls at her angrily. The tiny noise brings her attention back to it. “It’s… It’s, uh… Damien is the name of a demon baby who is supposed to bring about the apocalypse in the human world.” His incredulous, disappointed look is all she needs to see to know what he thinks of the plot. “I _said_ it wasn’t very good,” she grumbles. And then, she gets a very, _very_ bad idea because teasing the Avatar of Wrath would never, ever be a _good_ idea. She knows it’s bad. But she loves bad ideas and can’t help the grin that steals across her face as she sidles up next to him. 

“You know, this is sort of backwards,” she says. “Us having a baby before you’ve even taken me on a date.”

This earns her a rap on the top of her head with the book in his hands, and she thinks it’s more of a distraction from the way she’s made him blush because it doesn’t hurt. 

“This is a kitten, not a child,” he says, as if explaining the concept to a very small child. She only smiles at him and watches as he turns his attention back to whatever it is he’s reading. It’s not in either of the languages she’s proficient in. 

“What, you can’t see the resemblance?” She holds the kitten up to the side of her face, widening her eyes so that her and the kitten’s blue eyes both look at him. He shoots her a withering glare that tells her playtime is over; he’s at the end of his patience for her antics. The kitten mewls again and wobbles towards the edge of her hand on unsteady, stubby legs. “I guess Damien’s tired of me too,” she says with a dramatic sigh, holding the kitten out to Satan for him to take. He does, carefully marking his place in his book.

“I should probably go,” she tells him with a sigh once Damien is on his lap, playing with the empty sleeve of his jacket. “Did you set an alarm for overnight? He’s not supposed to go more than a few hours without feeding. And he has to be kept warm. And—”

“I know,” he assures her, cutting off her other reminders. “I have an alarm set and plenty of charms to keep something as small as… _Damien_ warm.” He says the kitten’s name reluctantly, having to force it through his lips. But she smiles at him like sunlight when he does, and he consoles himself with the knowledge that the kitten’s new owner will probably rename him. He hopes. 

“Okay. See you later, then,” she tells him, throwing one more longing glance at the kitten. 

* * *

Satan talks her out of taking the kitten to class. Barely. But she’s still regretting acceding to him when she’s stuck in her Numerology class with Mammon and Asmodeus, even though Asmodeus is doing his best to distract her by playing with her hair and trailing barely-there touches around the nape of her neck. Mammon, deeply offended by the liberties his brother is taking with the human, launches crushed up balls of paper at Asmodeus. Most of them bounce harmlessly off the desk, until one of them actually hits Asmdoeus on the back of his head. 

She’s briefly worried that another fight is going to break out, remembering the pillow fight massacre from the retreat. But Asmodeus hisses something at his brother that Eleanor can’t hear that makes Mammon lean far back into his chair and sulk. She wishes they wouldn’t do that—speak in rumbles that hover at the edge of what she can hear as a human—but whatever it was, it makes Mammon _mostly_ behave until the end of class. She considers pressing Asmodeus for details, but doesn’t particularly relish the idea of risking detention today. Not when Damien is back in Satan’s room and she doesn’t want to leave him alone for too long. 

So today, she doesn’t wait for Lucifer to escort her back to the house; Satan is the one who walks her back, and he regales her with information he’s gleaned from the books he’s managed to dig up regarding rearing demon cats. How he’s managed to do all of it in the day they’ve had the cat is impressive, if not borderline scary for Eleanor. The ferocity with which he attacks a goal is more than a little intimidating to her. 

She takes her turns feeding the kitten and playing with it; if he finds her baby talk irritating, he graciously doesn’t say anything. (She does note, however, that he settles more loosely into his chair when she leaves.) And just as she’s about to call it quits for the night, she gets a phone call. It’s Mammon.

“I have a proposition for ya,” he says. 

“Oh?” Eleanor asks, wondering what mischief he has planned. She wonders if he even remembers their exam tomorrow, and then decides he was too busy throwing things at her in class that he hadn’t even heard the announcement. 

“Yep!” He sounds proud of himself. “A special, limited-time offer. Just for you. Come to my room.”

“To do…?” She asks, intrigued. 

“Become my private tutor, obviously. Since you’re a human and all, you’re probably nervous about that numerology test, huh? Well, since I’m such a nice guy, I’ve decided to help you out.”

“By letting me be your private tutor,” she states, wondering if he’s gotten his words mixed up at all. But his affirmation from his own end of the line assures he she’s heard correctly as well. But it makes her laugh and makes her feel warm, so she agrees, rifling through her bag to find her notes. 

She’s outside his door only a few minutes later, notes and textbook in hand, and he ushers her into his room with the same rapidity that Leviathan usually does, as if he’s afraid of anyone seeing her. By the time he’s shut his door and joined her on his couch, she already has her notes spread out.

“What is it that you’re not really getting? I think it’s all bullshit, so I’m not sure how much help I’m going to be,” she confesses, turning to the index of their textbook. It’s surprisingly dense for what seems like a fluff science to her, but it’s a mandatory class and she doesn’t see any use in fighting it. 

“I dunno what we went over in class today,” he says. 

“That’s ‘cause you were busy throwing paper instead of taking notes,” she points out, flipping to the day’s scribblings in her own notebook. Demons, she’s learned, don’t typically bother themselves with numerology; that’s more in the realm of a sorcerer like Solomon. “Okay, so, today we went over linking numbers in spells to create new meanings. Professor Valac said that there will be a few questions about this on the exam, so you should have—hey,” she pouts at him when she looks up and notices he’s not paying attention to her words at all. 

“It’s your fault I can’t focus in class anyway,” he grumbles, stretching out and leaning backwards so he’s laid out on her lap. “Bein’ all cutesy with Asmo. It’s annoyin’.” Her lips twist into a frustrated smile. _You won’t give me any attention, but then get jealous when others do? Jerk_ , she mentally scolds him, but doesn’t let her thoughts show on her face. 

“So _you_ sit beside me and be all cutesy,” she tells him, carding her hands through his hair. It’s not something that he lets just anyone do, and she revels in the feeling of his hair slipping by her hands. _Dangerous!_ A part of her warns; she sagely tells that part to shut up.

“Tch. Like I’d be cutesy with a _human_.” He pouts

She knows it’s posturing. She knows that the light blush on his face isn’t because he’s angry, not right now, at least. She just wishes that, for once, he’d say something that didn’t make her feel like he’d just twisted a knife in her heart. It’s a juvenile metaphor, she knows; but it’s also a juvenile feeling. 

“Oh? Okay then,” she says, pulling her hand out of his hair. 

“Oi! The Great Mammon didn’t say you could stop!” He protests, sitting up to reclaim her touch. The familiar weight of his head settles back onto her thighs when he’s sure she isn’t going to abandon her ministrations and she hums to herself in satisfaction. _Was that so hard?_ She wants to ask him.

“Well, will _the Great Mammon_ allow this humble human to explain what he missed in class today so he doesn’t fail his exam?”

“... Yeah,” he says after a beat, swallowing hard. She reaches out for her notes and shuffles through them, hoping she’ll remember to copy them out for him later. Her notes are, for the most part, orderly—barring a corner that Asmodeus doodled on— and she reads the relevant parts out to him, trying to cover the most important topics first. 

But he’s not paying attention to her at all, she notices when she goes to turn to the next page. She frowns at him, but her anger subsides when she notices the way his eyes are closed, the way he’s holding himself very still, as if afraid to make any noise at all. He _is_ listening, she realizes. Deeply. If not to her words, then at least to her voice. 

“Hey.” She runs her hand down his face, dragging her knuckles over his cheeks. He cracks a blue eye open at her. “You know, you don’t have to try and trick me into spending time with you. You can just… have affection.”

An unbearably soft expression ghosts across his face before he remembers himself and it goes away. Before he can totally obliterate the moment, she places her hand over his mouth and leans over to kiss him on his forehead. 

“Okay? Okay. So, in a summoning circle—”

“Fuck the summoning circles,” he says with such vehemence that she half forgets what she’s going to say next. “You call that a kiss?”

 _Ah_ , she thinks, an impish smile spreading over her face. “As a matter of fact, I do not.”

“Prove it!” He says, and she laughs because even though she _just_ told him he doesn’t have to manipulate her, he’s still trying. Badly, but still trying because he doesn’t want to abandon his pretense. He’s sitting up to face her now, and she leans heavily on her hands, which she has placed in the space between them on the couch. They’re so close that she can feel the heat from his face on hers. His eyes are closed but hers are wide open, drinking in the sight of his pale eyelashes against his cheeks. 

“Pass your exam first.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't @ me if you liked the omen please


	28. An Inconvenient Interruption

She makes it back to her own room in the early hours of the morning, with nothing but numbers and how they relate to magical endeavors swirling through her head. Mammon still has her notes, but she’s far too exhausted to trek back to his room to retrieve them. Her last thought before she passes out is that it’s almost alarming how determined he becomes when there’s a goal in mind, and if she should be worried that _she_ seems to be the goal.

The nightmares return with a brutal force that has her blinking her eyes open into the darkness a scant few hours later, willing the feeling to work back into her fingertips. She can’t remember much from the nightmare—just the feeling of endlessly falling and the wind whipping past her face, tearing her wings to shreds—but the phantom pains follow her into wakefulness and have her heart hammering at a rate she doubts is healthy. When her heart rate evens out and she feels the adrenaline burn from her system, she considers trying to go back to sleep and salvage what’s left of her early morning hours. But every time she closes her eyes she feels the whispers of her dream crawling in the corners of her mind. It doesn’t take long for her to admit defeat and drag herself out of bed.

She stumbles into the dining room to find it not as filled as it usually is; Leviathan still hasn’t come down, and neither has Mammon. _If he oversleeps and misses the exam, I’m going to be really pissed_ , she thinks as she fixes herself a cup of coffee. 

“Oh, dear,” Asmodeus croons, pinning her with his honeyed gaze when she turns around. “You look awful. Was it that bad, last night? Or that good?” She blinks at him, not comprehending, her mind still sluggishly trying to reacclimate to being awake and mobile.

“What on earth are you talking about?” She takes a long sip of her coffee and pulls a face; something about the Devildom brew is always too bitter for her, no matter how much sugar she adds. 

“Don’t play coy. I _saw_ you creeping out of Mammon’s room last night. Or rather, this morning.” His smile tells her that he’s already come up with his own narrative, and she flashes him her own.

“Oh! We were studying. There’s a numerology exam today.” She puts her mug down on the table and wonders if she needs the caffeine badly enough to suffer through the rest of it. Deciding that she probably does, she picks it back up again and brings it to her lips; the movement draws Lucifer’s attention to her, and she only notices him when she looks up to find herself ensnared in his gaze.

“ _You_ ,” Lucifer says as if probing for a lie. “Got Mammon to study.” He drums his fingers against the tabletop as if already planning out the punishment for her transgression. She watches the movement and takes another punishing sip of her coffee.

“... Yes?” She says, waiting for him to try and call her a liar. “I think he probably still has my notes, actually.” Lucifer deadpans at her. Satan looks stunned. Asmodeus’s thoughts are clearly on display behind his eyes. 

“A little teacher-student play, hmm? I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing.” Asmodeus says, leaning over the table towards her. She raises an eyebrow at him and smirks, resting her chin on her hand.

“You have no idea what I’m into, Asmo.” This only succeeds in winding him up—which is, if she’s honest with herself, the goal—and making Satan clear his throat. Lucifer seems unfazed by her words; he only continues to watch her with suspicion. “But I digress. Really, it was just studying.” 

She doesn’t feel the need to bring up their wager; she’s not a fan of kissing and telling, and besides, her impulsive promise has already been half forgotten. The way Asmodeus is looking at her makes her think she might just eat her up. She doesn’t want to add fuel to that particular fire so early in the morning, so she only shrugs at his questioning gaze. 

And that is when Mammon decides to make his appearance, looking just as rumpled as he usually does. He snags something from the table and drops Eleanor’s notes in front of her; she shoots Asmodeus a smug grin and watches the corners of his mouth twitch downwards. 

“Alright, human! Ya ready for the exam? The Great Mammon is gonna wipe the floor with ya.” He slings an arm around her shoulders and almost makes her spill her drink. 

“I’m sure,” she demurs, nudging her mug out of his range, hoping to save herself a mess so early in the morning. “Where’s Levi?”

“Online classes,” Satan informs her, steepling his fingers at the scene in front of him. She nods at his answer, and wonders if the Avatar of Envy was up all night playing video games again. 

“Are we goin’ or what?” Mammon demands, and she stands with a sigh, thinking of all the sleep she missed out on. _He’d better take it seriously_ , she thinks, not wanting all of her efforts to be wasted. Asmodeus looks at her like she’s an eldritch being from another world and she finds she likes the new glint in his eyes.

“What did you _do_ to him?” He asks, earning an indignant squawk from the brother in question. 

“Nothing, like I said,” she tells Asmodeus, ignoring the way Satan looks at her as if she’s just announced she’s going to part the sea. _Like I’m a puzzle to be solved_ , she thinks, looking away from his eyes. It’s always unnerving, having the full attention of more than one demon on her at a time. 

* * *

Luck smiles upon her during the exam; although she’s exhausted, her late-night cram session sticks. She’s confident when she hands in her exam and is excused to leave. Just before she does, she glances back at her two demons. 

Asmodeus looks bored by the whole affair, but he’s still scribbling something down. _But knowing him, he could just be doodling_ , she notes. Mammon’s hand is fisted in his hair and he’s mouthing words at his paper. The sight doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. 

Her next stop is the student council room to ask Lucifer to accompany her back to the House of Lamentation. He doesn’t seem pleased to be interrupted, but she’s in too good of a mood to let him ruin it. 

“How much longer?” She asks him once they’re out of the academic building, and he must not have been listening to her because he says “hmm?” She frowns lightly.

“How much longer until it’s safe for me to walk by myself?” She further defines her question, and he looks down at her. _At least now he looks a little more amused,_ she lets herself think.

“Never. But the most pressing danger should pass in the next day or two.” He leaves her at the gate to the House because he has more pressing business to attend to back at the Academy. She takes the opportunity to slip into Satan’s room to steal Damien away and, because she’s in a good mood, decides to visit Belphegor.

He’s not expecting it, she can tell. Mostly because he’s passed out on the bed, wrapped up in blankets and surrounded by a mountain of pillows. She lets him rest for a little bit, choosing instead to finish feeding Damien, who mews to let her know he’s still hungry. It’s this soft, gentle noise, so out of the ordinary, that wakes the demon. 

“You’re not supposed to have pets here,” he says, making Eleanor look up at him in surprise. He’s edged closer to the bounds of his territory, and this makes her settle back against the wall, trying to put more distance between them. 

“I know,” she tells him easily, stroking Damien’s tiny head with a single finger. The kitten leans into her warmth. “Want to see?” 

She holds Damien up for inspection, keeping him safe within the warm cage of her hands. Belphegor only looks at her as if she’s missing something obvious.

“It’s tiny.” He finally says. “You’re going to have to come closer.”

“Don’t demons have super eyesight or something?” She asks, looking down at the kitten. She misses the flash of irritation that crosses his face. 

“Demons do have superior senses,” he acknowledges. “But humor me. I want to see it closer.” it’s not a request. It’s a demand. And even though she doesn’t like people—or demons—demanding things of her, she decides that she can make an exception here. He’s locked up, after all; she has no idea how often Lucifer visits him, so she has no doubt that he’s lonely. She scoots closer, closing the distance between them by half. 

“Closer,” he says, and she thinks she can hear a teasing tone lacing through his voice.

“Absolutely not,” she tells him petulantly, depositing Damien on the floor. The kitten is still a little unstable on his paws, but he’s grown stronger in the time she and Satan have been looking after him. _No doubt Satan’s done some magic_ , she thinks, paying with the kitten’s stubby little tail as it wanders around between her legs. 

“Your brothers seem to be doing… well,” she says, wondering if her choice of words is wholly accurate or not. “Considering the circumstances, I mean.” She amends her words, nudging Damien away from the stairs. “Levi’s too cooped up in his room. I’m going to see if I can draw him out a bit.”

“You meddle too much,” Belphegor tells her, leaning against the ironwork. “Levi’s always been the loner sort, stuck in his own little world.”

“And you let him?” She challenges, her gaze sharp. Damien investigates the trailing end of her sleeve and she lets him mouth at it. “I think he’s lonely.”

“And what would you know about being lonely?” Belphegor returns her challenge, anger roiling in his voice. She looks up at him, surprised, to see that his eyes are hard. If there wasn’t a magical seal and a metal door between them, she’d feel menaced.

“Plenty. I have to go, now.” She’s not sure if she actually does or not, but he’s soured her mood, and if he’s going to be combative, then she doesn’t want to spend her time with him. Besides, Damien needs to be put back where it’s safe and warm for him. She wonders if she should have taken him out of Satan’s room to begin with. 

He doesn’t argue against his departure, and some small part of her feels bad about cutting her visit short so early. But she doesn’t feel _too_ bad, she decides when she tucks a sleeping Damien back into the corner of Satan’s room dedicated to him. She’s helping him, after all. He doesn’t need to be so sharp with her. 

She whiles away an hour or two in her room, organizing and then reorganizing her things, wondering if she should give up trying to restore life to her human world cell phone and just throw it away. It isn’t as if there’s much she can do with it down in the Devildom anyway. She chews on her bottom lip and then tucks it away at the back of her desk drawer, next to her human world paperwork and transcripts and endless legal documents and other things she’d like better to forget. The drawer snaps shut with a little more force than she meant to use and she turns away from it, scanning her room for some other distraction. Satan wants, probably, to be free from her meddling for a little bit. And she can’t go back up to Belphegor with her tail between her legs. Leviathan already messaged the group chat to tell everyone to leave him alone; one of his shows is having a new season premier and he doesn’t want to be interrupted. 

Which leaves her alone and to her own devices, which she doesn’t like at all. 

So while she’s surprised when her door is flung open, she’s not really all that upset, especially when she sees Mammon standing there, brandishing his phone at her. _Perfect distraction_ , she thinks, and then tilts her head as she takes his appearance in. _Did he run home…?_ She wonders because his cheeks and the tips of his ears are tinged red. 

“Got my grade back,” he tells her smugly. “And I, being the Great Mammon, passed. ‘Cause I’m smart,” he tells her, and she nods her head because he needs that affirmation. But then she realizes what he said and purses her lips.

“They haven’t been graded yet,” she says, confused, because she’s _just_ checked the student portal for her own grade. But he flashes her a toothy smile and points to his phone screen where it shows that he does, indeed, have a grade filled in. It’s passing, even.

“Oh, hey.” She smiles up at him. “Good job! Wait—did you bribe the professor?” But he only frowns down at her, his expression turning into more of a pout the more she looks at him. He’s waiting for something, she can tell. 

“‘S time to pay up. Y-you did say—” And it’s his embarrassed stutter and the way that his cheeks go redder that reminds her of the promise she’d made him last night, but she didn’t imagine he’d actually _take her up on it._ She’s assumed, until this moment, right now as he stands in front of her, that he’d taken it as a joke, that he was playing along with whatever it was she’s been doing. She’s still not sure herself, but she _is_ sure that she wants to kiss him. _A girl has needs, damn it_ , she thinks, and steps forward. 

“I did,” she agrees, and reaches up to pull his face to hers. He lets her pull him down to her level and she places a sweet, chaste kiss at the very corner of his mouth, more to see what she can get away with than anything else. He grumbles something sulky she can’t quite make out about humans and that is when she strikes, taking advantage of his barely-open mouth to invade. She takes one of her hands from his face and places it on his shoulder to steady herself because she’s standing on her tiptoes and it’s starting to hurt, sort of. 

She tugs on his tie to bring him lower and he follows her greedily until she’s back on both of her feet. He breathes hard out of his nose when she takes his lower lip into her mouth and grazes her teeth against it; she feels it against her face and is reminded that she needs to breathe, too. When she pulls away from him there’s a whine, except she can’t tell if it’s hers or his. 

“You can—touch me,” she says, trying to get her breath back. His hands are hovering somewhere near her hips but he hasn’t actually done anything yet, which only serves to frustrate her. 

“I’m—you—o-of course I can,” he responds, but he doesn’t sound so sure of himself. Not liking the way her uniform jacket restricts her breathing, she shucks it off, not caring if it lands in a pile on her floor where she throws it. 

“Really? Because I hear a lot of talking and not a lot of—” But he rushes her, cutting off her words with his mouth; he misjudges his speed and their teeth click together almost painfully, sending her stumbling backwards. Except his hands actually are on her hips now, so she doesn’t go too far. She leans against him and he rumbles something she can feel rather than hear when she slips a hand under his opened shirt collar. 

He steps forward, forcing her backwards until the backs of her thighs hit her desk. 

“Up,” he tells her, but it’s more of a plea, and she’s grateful for it because she feels her legs tremble when he presses a knee against her juncture. Before she even realizes it, she’s sitting on her desk and he’s pressing between her thighs, bringing them as close together as he can without hurting her. She braces herself on both of her palms, leaning back so that her neck is exposed to him; he takes the opportunity to lean in closer and press his lips against the pulse point just below her jaw. 

She keens at the sensation of him hard at her core and his fingertips trailing around her lower ribs, and he stiffens suddenly, holding her still. Her eyes open and she finds she’s breathing hard and fast, missing the sensation of him moving against her. 

“Make—make that noise again,” he demands, his hands roving again and his voice harsh. She can feel the way the rings on his fingers glide heavy over the skin of her inner thighs and she gives into his demand without really meaning to. He leans down hard over her, almost laying her out on her desk. Her elbows are the only things keeping her up.

“Mammon,” she whines, sounding needy even to her own ears. But there’s something else fighting for her attention, breaking through the haze in her mind. Its insistent beeping is becoming irritating and she wishes whatever it is would just _shut up_ because otherwise, she’s enjoying this—

And then she realizes what it is. It’s her phone—or, more precisely, it’s the alarm on her phone, reminding her that her four hours is up and Damien needs feeding. She groans into Mammon’s mouth and sits up, regretting that time passed so quickly.

“I have to go,” she says sadly, and he rubs small circles into the small of her back with his thumb in response.

“What? What’s more important than the Great Mammon?” He pulls away from her when he speaks, frowning, and she follows him to press another kiss into the hollow of his throat. 

“Secret,” she tells him, and he gives her a half-lidded look that almost has her fobbing her duty off to Satan. “Rain check?” She asks when he leans forward, because she knows if she lets him kiss her again it’ll be over. 

He responds with a grumbled sigh that sounds to her ears more like a groan, but he steps away from her so she can climb off her desk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 90k words before the first proper kiss counts as slow burn, yeah?
> 
> also I'm never sure where the line between M/E is, so going forward, let me know if I should up the rating. Probably I'll have to, in the future.


	29. Damien Discovered

All she has to do, she tells herself when she stretches out in Satan's bed, Damien on her chest, is not fall in love. _Easy peasy,_ she lies to herself, letting her eyes fall closed, feeling the kitten curl up between her neck and shoulder to soak in her warmth. She flips open one of the books she found at the very bottom of the furthest bookshelf in Satan’s room. The one that she thinks is saved for sentimental things he hasn’t touched in a while. She’ll agree that his room is cluttered, but not dirty, not dusty—but the shelf she pulled the tin volume from looks like it has been abandoned for a while.

Still, she at least knows that if it’s a book meant for children, she’ll know all of the words in her new language. 

* * *

She’s asleep. In his bed. Not in a particularly attractive way; her hair is skewed all about her head, one of her arms is thrown up above her like she’d been trying to block an attack, and there’s a small book half on her face, like she dropped it there when she fell asleep. The kitten is there, tucked between her neck and and the book, sleeping in the tangle of her hair. He rescues the kitten just in case she rolls over on it in her sleep. 

The book is one he picked up on a whim a long time ago, something meant for small demon children—more of a collection of traditional fairy tales than a real book. He wonders if she was _reading_ , of all things, to the kitten; he doubts the kitten was even awake to hear it, knowing how often it falls asleep shortly after eating. Satan picks the book up from off of her face and tucks it back away where she got it from. 

He lets her be for the time being. No doubt attempting to tutor Mammon is exhausting, and he thinks she probably deserves her rest—he just would have preferred that she not take it _in his bed_. But her quiet breathing is distracting to an almost obscene level and he finds himself growing irritated, although he cannot describe exactly why. 

For the upteenth time that day, his phone vibrates, hailing a new phone call—and when he ignores that, a stream of new messages. It’s grating; it’s _infuriating_ , even, and his simmering rage as he taps out a message in reply stirs the human into wakefulness. She sits up, blinking, touching the area of her neck where Damien had been curled up against just a few moments ago. She looks confused. 

“What…” She trails off and then looks at him as if she’s just realized where she is. 

“You fell asleep,” he tells her as Damien tries crawling up his jacket sleeve. He doesn’t mind the way the kitten’s tiny claws poke at his skin. She looks around her again and then down at her hands, which rest against the covers on his bed. 

“Oh,” she says with a poorly disguised yawn. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“I doubt you did.” He looks down at his phone with a frown as it buzzes to life in his hand again, and his scowl tells her that whoever it is that’s messaging him has crossed a line. He doesn’t deign to reply this time, and refuses to even look down at his phone as messages continue to roll in. 

“However…” His eyes flick up to Eleanor from the phone he’s studiously ignoring and the kitten in his other hand, and he looks at her as if he’s appraising her. She sits up straighter and swings her legs over the edge of his bed so that her feet are flat on the floor. It isn’t the fact that he’s looking at her that concerns her; it’s the hungry, calculating expression that she catches the tail end of when she looks up, before it’s carefully swept away. “ _If_ you would like to make up for your, frankly, appalling lack of boundaries, I _could_ use your help with something.”

The only thing that keeps her from being nervous is the fact that she can tell he’s teasing her, at least a little bit. 

“Sure,” she says, still a little half asleep. If she’d been fully awake, she might have asked him what the favor was, first, before agreeing to anything. But she doesn’t, and so he smiles at her like he’s just won something. 

“There’s this witch. She’s been eager to… contact me for some time now.” And based on the way his eyes narrow, she knows he means something else, but she’ll let him avoid it. “I met her at a witches’ Sabbath. She flashed me a coy smile. Next thing I know I’m being called a witch myself. And now, she won’t leave me in peace.” He’s bordering on distraught at the turn of events, Eleanor can tell. Still, that doesn’t keep a small smile from her face. 

“Oh? Did you flirt with her and then leave her? Heartbreaker,” she tells him, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead for dramatic effect. He isn’t amused at all, and only gives her a look that tells her she’d better quit her teasing.

“What kind of person do you take me for, exactly? Asmo?” He asks. He looks away to keep Damien from tearing too much at the tassel on his uniform, but continues speaking with solemn determination. “I can’t let that happen, which means…”

He looks up at her.

“You’re going to help me. You’re the only human here. You should be able to get inside her frame of mind and figure out how to get her to leave me alone. Everything I’ve tried hasn’t worked.”

“We’re not a hive mind, you know,” she points out with a frown. ‘What _have_ you tried?” Because for the most part, he’s almost unfalteringly polite. She wouldn’t be at all surprised if his hints weren’t at all direct and the witch simply missed them, willfully or not.

“I’ve tried ignoring her, telling her I have no interest. I’ve even tried to hex her. In short, I’ve tried just about everything but tearing her limb from limb.” He stares at her balefully as if the answer to his troubles is written somewhere on her forehead. 

“... Oh.”

“Yes,” he says gravely, as if she’s just now understood the gravity of the situation. She’s more hung up on the fact that he tried to hex someone, boundary-pushing with or not. “So, I expect you to come up with a plan and to help me enact it the next Sabbath.”

“Which is…?”

“Friday evening.”

“You’re giving me a day to come up with some silly plan to get an infatuated witch off your back? Come on.” But appealing to his reason is, clearly, not going to work; he only nods at her as if she hasn’t just stated an impossibility. Damien wobbles towards the edge of Satan’s lap and Eleanor holds out her hand so he can climb onto it. He’s better able to explore now, a little more able to climb into places he hasn’t been able to reach before. Most notably, the kitten has taken to trying to get to the highest point he can reach and perching there to survey his surroundings. 

Damien clumps up her sleeve to her shoulder, and is clearly eyeing her hair, trying to figure out how to climb onto the top of her head. Satan’s door opens without much warning, and Eleanor’s hand flies up to Damien to shield the kitten from the new intruder. She stares, wide-eyed at Lucifer as he looks back down at her and Satan.

“I was wondering where you’d gotten to,” he says.

Damien meows, and Eleanor smiles weakly up at Lucifer, hoping he’ll ignore the noise. Unsurprisingly, he frowns at her, furrowing his brows.

“You were supposed to be out,” is the first thing that tumbles from her mouth. He regrets it instantly when he narrows his eyes at her in a scathing glare. She drops her hand from Damien, knowing that the cat is, literally, now out of the bag.

“As you can see,” he gestures to himself. “I am not. Now, explain why there is an animal on your shoulder.” She looks up to Satan for help, but he doesn’t seem like he’s going to offer it to her anytime soon. 

“We, um… Found this kitten, and it needed taking in or it—or who knows what could have happened to it.”

“ _We_ ,” he challenges her explanation, gaze flicking over to Satan. “Interesting, because I know for a fact _you_ haven’t left the house unaccompanied in some time.” He holds up a hand to halt her words when she opens her mouth to try and talk her way out of the corner she’s painted herself into. 

“No, I know exactly who brought it back to the house,” Lucifer says, glaring at Satan. He lowers his hand and turns his gaze back to the kitten, which is pawing at Eleanor’s hair, unaware of its predicament. “Still, I have yet to see any evidence that this has impacted your studies. You may keep it _until_ you find it an appropriate home, but I expect both of you to actively work towards that end.” He powers through Eleanor’s excited gasp, pointedly not focusing on the way her eyes light up in delight. Satan watches the exchange with interest; he’d been preparing himself for some sort of blowout, something that would have ended the fun early.

“Okay!” She agrees readily, knowing that they weren’t going to be able to keep the kitten forever. Satan said as much when he first showed it to her, but they haven’t been doing much in the way of finding it a permanent home—at least, she hasn’t been. Perhaps Satan has been, but she doubts it. Lucifer casts her one more hard glance before he turns on his heel and leaves, closing the door behind him. 

“It seems Lucifer has a soft spot,” Satan says, looking at Eleanor. She’s too busy plucking Damien from her shoulder to keep him from chewing on her hair to see the way he looks at her curiously. 

“It’s a cute little thing,” she says, holding Damien out in front of her. “Who _doesn’t_ have a soft spot for them?” Satan hums in response and leans down to take the kitten from her hands, and this time she catches the look he gives her. “What?” She asks, taken aback by the way his eyes glint at her. 

“I think, perhaps, you ought to go and complete your homework or any projects you have,” he says. “Don’t give Lucifer a reason to change his mind.”

“I suppose,” she says, casting a sad glance at the kitten; but she knows he’s right, so she stands and brushes the few stray hair of cat fur from her shirt. She leaves him then, but doesn’t go back to her room immediately. Instead, remembering her words to Belphegor, she heads to Leviathan’s room. _His show has to be over_ , she tells herself when she knocks on his door. He shouts for her to come in and doesn’t sound irritated, so she’s fairly certain she’s in the clear. She doesn’t wait for an invitation to sit down next to him; instead, she throws herself down onto one of the piles of pillows he has in front of his television.

“Tell me about witches,” she says, wondering if she should have asked Satan before flouncing out of his room. But she thinks he’s more of the sort to let her struggle her way into an answer rather than just give it to her. _Hardly fair if he wants me to help him,_ she thinks. 

“What about them?” Levi asks, not looking away from his game. 

“I don’t know,” she says with a shrug as she watches him narrowly miss a projectile from his game enemy. He growls something into his headset and she waits for him to finish before she continues. “Are they human? How does their magic work? What are they like?”

“Demanding,” he says without a second thought, and then his match ends. He doesn’t immediately enter a new game, instead letting his avatar wait in the game lobby. “They’re mostly human. They’ve tapped into their natural abilities, of course, but sometimes they’re… enhanced.”

“By?”

“Demonic heritage. Runes. Pacts,” he looks at her when he says the last word meaningfully, but she only shrugs at him. “Some of them are like teammates you have to carry, so I don’t bother with them. Normies.” There’s actual derision in his voice when he says it, heavier than when he calls _her_ a normie, which she’ll take as progress. 

“Hmm,” she says, because while he’s given her interesting information, it doesn’t necessarily help her with Satan’s problems. “How about their Sabbaths?”

“Basically big parties,” he says with a disgusted frown. “Too many people all being annoying in one place. Can I get back to my game?”

She sighs and stands, knowing when she’s being dismissed. “Yeah. Thanks for the information. Oh, and,” she pauses when she stands in his doorway. “Good luck! Hope you win.” He waves her off with a backwards wave of his hand, his small smile hidden from her. 

* * *

She spends most of the rest of the evening not really thinking about Satan’s witch problem. She has other things on her mind now that she’s alone, like Mammon and how far she might have let the situation go if her alarm hadn’t intervened. Safely alone in her room, she covers her eyes with her hands and groans because she knows she’s going to have a very, very difficult time keeping things as casual as she wants to. The thought follows her all the way into the morning, when she greets him casually as if nothing at all happened the evening before. 

_I guess not much did,_ she thinks sadly, but she secretly enjoys the way he hangs around her, just barely not touching her like he’s trying to tease. But based on the way he blushes and stutters around her—which only makes her feel worse—she doubts he has it in him to tease like that. 

So she makes it through most of her classes, managing to at least half focus on the lessons; the accuracy of her notes is not as stable as it usually is. He’s taken her up on her challenge to sit next to her, scaring more than a few of her other classmates off with a growled “what do you think you’re doin’ beside _my_ human” that has her stomach doing little flops. 

And that… gives her an idea, actually, of how to solve Satan’s witch problem. 

“You’re a genius,” she tells him, pressing a kiss into the top of his head and pulling out her phone so she can tap out a message to Satan. He doesn’t reply, but she can see that he’s read her message. 

“Of course I am,” he says, sounding proud of himself if not a little baffled about her reaction. But he sits happily enough next to her in class until the very end, when he’s pulled away by something else. She hopes it isn’t repercussions from bribing their instructor yesterday, but that gives her an opportunity to pursue a different concern she has. 

“Asmo,” she says, blocking his exit from the classroom with her body. “I have a question for you.” He smirks down at her and places both of his hands on her shoulders. She can’t believe she’s going to ask the Avatar of Lust for romantic advice because they’re not exactly the same thing. But he’s the only one that she thinks might 

“Oh? Would you like to go somewhere a little more… private?” He glances at the classroom door, which has swung shut; they’re the only ones in the room now. “Or, perhaps this is fine.”

“Have you ever… Ugh.” She runs both of her hands through her hair. “Do you ever see heartbreak coming from, like a hundred miles away, but still go for the person… Or, let’s say, people, anyway?” Embarrassment courses through her when his eyes light up.

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. I would never let anyone get close enough to me to break my heart. What a silly thought.” But he notices the way she deflates and how her expression falls and decides to take pity on her. “You know, though, sometimes the best way to get over someone is to get under them. Or under someone else.”

He looks at her pointedly and bumps her hip with his, looking for any sign of disgust or discomfort. He doesn’t like the fact that he can’t charm her; he can’t help but to feel that if he could, her problem would be very easily solved. 

“I don’t think that’s going to work,” she says. _And there’s the heartbreak_ , she thinks to herself, wondering if his brothers remain as detached as he does. _Probably_ , she thinks, and the thought makes her feel a little sick. “Thanks anyway, though.”

“Let me know if you need any help with that. I’d be delighted to assist.”

“I know you would be,” she says with a sigh, running her hand through her hair. _I’m in trouble_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eleanor talks a big game about not getting emotionally attached but that's impossible for her. Tough luck, kid.


	30. Witches' Sabbath

“Dress warm,” he messaged her earlier in the day, when he gave her the time to meet him in his room. She’s asked him how warm and never got a response, so now she looks at her greatly expanded wardrobe (courtesy of Asmodeus) and tries to guess. She holds a sweater up to the light only to find that despite its seeming thickness, it’s also somehow mostly sheer (courtesy of Asmodeus) and tosses it into the reject pile. She’s going to have to have a talk with him about what is and is not acceptable for her to wear in public.

So she gives up, mostly, and settles for her old standby of leggings under jeans and a fully opaque sweater over a shirt. Serviceable. Not likely to give anyone the wrong idea—which is, unfortunately, exactly what she’s hoping to do. Satan has been informed of her harebrained plan, and she hopes he’s a good actor, or else the whole thing is going to fall apart. And, she can’t help but to think, she’ll only earn herself a hex if it all goes wrong. 

She knocks once on his door to announce her presence before she enters his room, and he’s sketching something in chalk on his floor. When she gets closer, she recognizes it as a sort of summoning circle, but… inverted. She narrows her eyes at it and tries to pick it apart, but the symbols and runes written in it are far beyond her level. 

“Where are we going?” She asks because based on what she  _ can _ read, she can’t tell at all. 

“Łysa Góra,” he tells her as if that clears anything up at all. She pouts at him and he holds a hand out to her once he’s brushed the chalk dust off his fingers; she takes his hand and steps carefully into the circle, not wanting to smudge his work. He mutters something and the circle activates, warm and bright, and she has to close her eyes against the light. When she opens them, they’re standing in the dark, but an appropriately-sized moon and stars twinkle above them. Tree branches—tall and old, spreading out like bony fingers—obscure some of the view. She’s grateful he told her to dress warm because the cold air bites against the exposed bits of her skin. 

“The moon…” She pauses, staring up at the sky. “Are we in the human world?”

“It’s a liminal space,” he tells her when he notices that her eyes are open. It’s freezing, just like the Devildom, she notes, just in a slightly different way. But it’s also nighttime and, if she’s correct in her timekeeping, starting to verge on winter in the human world. “Not quite the human world, not quite the Devildom. You cannot leave the bounds of the space without being returned to where you left.”

_ Good thing I wasn’t planning on running away, _ she thinks, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. 

“Tell me what this witch looks like so we can get this going. I’m  _ freezing _ .” She jams her hands into her pockets, shielding them from the wind. Someone is starting a fire, but it crackles strangely, full of pops and whines from the sap. It’s only a warm orange color for a moment before one of the witches throws something into it, turning it into a rainbow of colors. 

“She’s right over there,” he says, pointing in a direction somewhere behind Eleanor with his jaw. She stretches and turns, pretending to look at everything but the witch several yards from them.  _ She’s pretty; I wonder what it is he doesn’t like about her? _ She wonders, and then remembers the relentless messages. 

“Okay. Has she seen you?”

“She has,” he says, throwing the witch an aggressive glare that keeps her at bay. Eleanor nods and nudges Satan with her elbow.

“Let’s find somewhere quiet where she can’t see us, then,” she says, feeling vaguely like she’s walking to her own gallows. He’s agreed to the plan, already, but she can’t help but to feel like she’s taking advantage of him, somehow. Even though he agreed. Even though she tried brainstorming other ideas with him. Even though he shot them all down methodically. 

He leads her away beyond a copse of trees, away from the sounds of revelry that fill up the night. She can hear them echoing in the background when he turns to her. She can’t see his expression in the low light, and she hopes her own nerves are obscured. 

“Are you sure about this?” She asks, offering him—and herself—one more out. “I mean, there has to be some other way to get her to chill out, you know?” He narrows his eyes at her and his lips thin. She doesn’t think he’s angry, exactly, but she’s sure he’s challenging her. 

“We agreed on this. Are you backing out?”

“No!” She protests, stamping her foot on the ground because she doesn’t want to take her hands out of her coat pocket. “Just—ugh, fine—lean down. You’re all way too tall,” she complains as he complies, leaning down so that his hair falls into his eyes. She’s grateful that his gaze is obscured when she reaches out and touches the side of his face, near his jaw. The movement as she guides his face to the side breaks their eye contact, and now she feels slightly better about the whole thing. 

Just to ensure she won’t chicken out halfway through, she closes her own eyes and leans towards him until her lips meet the underside of his jaw. She feels him swallow hard when she sucks hard enough on the patch of his skin hard enough to bruise. As a small apology, she runs her tongue over the spot before she moves further down his neck, where she repeats the maneuver. When he tenses she pulls away, tugging at his collar so it doesn’t sit quite right around his neck. 

She inspects her work carefully, studying the trail of obvious bruises down his neck and the way his shirt looks rumpled now. But it’s missing something. She chews on her bottom lip and tilts her head to the side. He watches her like a cat, not taking his eyes from her face.

“One more thing, sorry,” she says, and then reaches up to ruffle his hair, running her hands through it so it looks tousled. “There. Now you look like you just had some… fun. Should make your witch pretty angry. You’ll just have to really hammer home your message then.”

“She is  _ not _ my witch,” he corrects her hotly, and she shrugs at his response.

“Regardless, if this doesn’t work, then you can always try and fob her off on Asmo. I’m sure he’d appreciate that.” It’s an absolute last resort, she knows because Satan already explained his distaste for that plot; that would only bring her into the House of Lamentation in one way or another, and that would only spell disaster. 

“What about you?” He asks. “Shouldn’t you look appropriately debauched?”

Eleanor looks down at herself and her many layers, then rumples her coat a little bit and looks back up at him. “She’s not going to be looking at me,” she points out. “And I’m wearing about a hundred layers because it’s cold. It’s fine. Feel like going back?” He nods and leads her back to the Sabbath, where more people have arrived to fill out the space. 

It’s a riot of color from the witches and their spells, which shimmer in the air around them. Their familiars are a menagerie of feathers and claws and fur, some of which watch the others with an almost human intellect. Those are the ones that worry her; she hopes that Satan’s witch doesn’t have one like that. 

“What now?” She asks, looking around her. She doesn’t see any activities, per se, but she’s also never been to a witches’ Sabbath before, so she has no frame of reference. Magic flies freely and lights up the area with an unnatural gleam in purples and blues and greens, and she is very, very aware that she has none at all to defend herself with. It was one thing when she was safe in the House of Lamentation, to concost silly little plans. Quite another to actually  _ enact _ them when surrounded by strange witches in the company of a demon she doesn’t have a pact with. Without Solomon’s aid, she doesn’t even have any way to call one of her pact demons, either, and she feels the first tendrils of panic crawling around her. 

“We mingle,” he tells her, but makes no effort to move.

“This was a terrible idea,” she breathes, standing stiff and holding her arms close to herself. She wants to go back to her room. Now. 

“Just stay close,” he says, wrapping his arm around her shoulders in a parody of an embrace. He leads her over to one particular witch, heavy with wrinkles and the scent of fresh baked bread, and enquires about potion ingredients. Eleanor filters the whole conversation through her mounting panic, not truly hearing anything either one of them is saying. Until the watch hands her something, forcing Eleanor’s attention back to the both of them. 

She blinks at the witch, who is holding something out from her fist. It’s a pendant, dangling from a silver chain. The pendant itself is glass, constructed in layers of black, sky blue, and white in the shape of an eyeball. It rests on a field of deep, lapis blue and it looks slightly familiar to Eleanor, though she can’t place where she’s seen something like it before.

“For you,” the witch says, and when Satan doesn’t stop her, Eleanor reaches out to take it. It has a weight to it, and Eleanor can feel rather than see the magic coiled tightly within the pendant. It rests heavy in her palm, and the witch urges her to put in on with gnarled hands. Eleanor wonders if the witch formed the glass herself and if she hands them out to every lost-looking human she stumbles across. 

“Thank you,” she says, and this seems to please the older woman, who reaches out and wraps Eleanor hand closed around the pendant. Satan, his business concluded, leads her away from the witch. 

“It’s a nazar,” he tells her. “It’s for protection. The person who puts it on is the only one who can take it off.”

She nods and fumbles with the clasp, her half-numb fingers making the task far more arduous than it needs to be. Eventually she manages it, and it settles midway down her sternum.  _ It’ll be easy to hide under a shirt, at least _ , she thinks, fiddling with the glass pendant. It glints in the purple fire nearby, making it almost look alive. 

“I guess another layer can’t really hurt,” she muses, letting it drop against her chest. But she pauses and looks up to him, a contemplative look on her face. “I thought you weren’t a fan of witches, though.”

“I dislike a  _ particular _ witch,” he corrects her. “Elizabeth, however, is perfectly fine.” 

“Hmm,” Eleanor says, her fingers finding the pendant again. If he likes Elizabeth, then that’s good enough for her. The witch— _ his _ witch—spots them; he’s the first to see her, and he tells Eleanor to wait somewhere out of the way. She selects a spot out of the way but still in the ring of firelight. There are a few other witches milling around the area, but they’re busy with their own business and leave her to her own.

Until they don’t.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” she hears a man’s voice say behind her, and it takes her a few moments to realize that the voice is talking to  _ her. _ She turns to look at the speaker, wondering if she’s been found out as the sole nonmagical creature in attendance.

“First time,” she says easily, hoping to explain away her ignorance that way. His eyes light up at her answer.

The witch— _ wizard? _ She wonders, not sure if the word ‘witch’ is used unilaterally for all genders—leans closer to her and smiles down. She doesn’t like the way he looks at her  _ or _ the pendant Elixabeth gave to her. Belatedly, she wonders if wearing a symbol of protection so readily marks her as someone who  _ needs _ protection. It’s too late to try and hide it now, regardless. 

“Then we’ll have to make sure it’s memorable, hmm?”

She frowns at him and leans back, and is about to tell him in no uncertain terms what she thinks of his proposal when she’s interrupted.

“Careful now,” Satan says, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her close to his side. “If you keep flirting with my date, I might just have to kill you.” She looks up at him sharply to see that he’s smiling, his eyes narrowed.  _ He’s at least halfway serious _ , she realizes, trying to etch a smile onto her face.  _ Somehow I keep forgetting that they’re actually, real-life demons _ . She manages a smile and freezes it there on her face, nervous that it looks more like a grimace than anything else. 

The witch looks between the two of them and then backs away slowly, holding his hands up.

“Fair enough,” he says, and Eleanor scowls at his retreating back. 

“I could have handled that,” she tells Satan, and he lets her wriggle out of his grasp. 

“Of course.” 

“You’re a good actor,” she tells him grudgingly, thinking that if she didn’t know any better, she might have thought he was actually a defensive boyfriend. “Did you handle your situation?”

“Yes. Thank you for your assistance.” 

“Fantastic. Can we go back? Or can you send me back? I’m freezing.” She wraps her arms around herself and wonders what the point of a bonfire is if it doesn’t throw off any actual heat. He has the gall to  _ laugh _ at her, which makes her scowl at him. 

“I’ll send you back,” he tells her, and she holds up a warning finger to him.

“No more flirting with random witches,” she orders, and he leads her back to where they appeared; the circle he used is still burned into the ground, and this is what he uses to send her back. There’s the same flash of bright light and she’s deposited back into his room, alone. 

She’s careful not to scuff the chalk marks in case he needs them to make his way back home whenever it is he decides to return. 

* * *

The brazier in her room makes it pleasantly warm, especially after the freezing Sabbath; she strips off her extra clothes, noting that, somehow, they all smell like campfire smoke despite none of the Sabbath flames throwing off actual heat. She brings Damien with her, not seeing any reason to keep trying to hide the kitten now that Lucifer knows about it. 

Her ill-advised daytime nap means that even though it's rather late at night, she's nowhere near tired. When Asmodeus texts her, frantic for help with something, she’s not sure if it’s a blessing or not. On one hand, it’s a distraction. On the other, she’s not sure if she wants to be  _ that _ distracted. She’s also starting to feel like a ping pong ball, bouncing between the brothers with hardly a minute to herself. 

But she goes anyway, taking Damien with her; he’s perched on her shoulder again, digging his claws into her shoulder when she climbs the stairs. His door is cracked halfway open, but she doesn’t see him immediately. She steps inside and knocks on his door as she does so.

“Uh, you’re a doll,” he says, and he’s only half dressed. She’s not sure what else she was expecting.

“Sure,” she agrees, fighting the urge to cover Damien’s eyes. “What’s the problem?”

“I’m going out with Solomon soon, and this fastener on my back is giving me  _ so _ much trouble. I can’t get it up my byself; it seems I’m just not flexible enough.” He offers his back to her but looks at her from over his shoulder with a pout. 

“I highly doubt you’re not flexible enough,” she tells him, and he gives her a saucy grin, pleased that she picked up on his obvious innuendo. She rolls her eyes but still smiles.

“I have to warn you, though, that my back is  _ very _ sensitive. It might be a little hard to hold back.”

“And waste all of your energy here before you even get to Solomon?” She reaches out for the very top fastener on his shirt and wonders why he even bothered to pick it out in the first place. Forget getting into it—it looks like a nightmare to get  _ out _ of. 

“A good point,” he concedes, stepping away from her once the final fastener snaps into place. 

“Have a good evening,” she tells him with a pat on the middle of his back and a small laugh when he throws his shoulder back.  _ Guess he wasn’t lying _ , she thinks.

“Oh, I intend to. Maybe next time you’ll come along as well.”


	31. Twenty-First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning notes for alcohol and consumption of alcohol.

She is never, _ever_ going to forgive him. She’s going to take her resentment to the grave, and then she’s going to turn into a ghost with the fury of it. She’s just decided. It was bad enough that he found a new home for Damien. Worse still that he did so without even consulting her—not that he _owes_ it to her, she tries to remind herself. But the thing that truly breaks her heart is that he sent Damien off in the middle of the night without even telling her. She wasn’t even awake. 

Maybe, if she were to look at it rationally, she would be happy that it’s Elizabeth that’s taken the kitten sin, since Satan trusts her. But she isn’t looking at it rationally; she’s a bundle of exposed, angry nerves and barely lets him finish his explanation before she slams her door in his face. He doesn’t leave immediately, either, which somehow makes her feel even worse, so she takes her shoe off her foot and throws it at her closed door.

This makes him leave, finally, and she feels a grim sense of victory when she hears his footsteps retreat down the hallway. She knows she’s acting childish and she’s well beyond the age that throwing a tantrum is acceptable, but it doesn’t make it any easier to calm herself down. Calming down would help her to make good choices; she wants to break things and scream and let everything come crashing down around her. 

The paperwork in her desk drawer looms like a dark promise; she feels the time it represents hanging over her head like the sword of Damocles, and she’s just waiting for the cord holding it up to snap. It’s been so easy to forget that time still passes in the Devildom, that back in the human world, things are progressing normally. Without her.

_So why the hell shouldn’t I challenge the Avatar of Gluttony to a drinking contest?_

It’s easy enough to find him—despite it being the weekend, he hasn’t gone out anywhere. Instead, he’s in the gym, finishing up one of his routines. 

“I want to drink something,” she tells him, hands on her hips. He looks at her like she’s said something ridiculous, and she thinks he’s missed her meaning completely. “Alcohol,” she clarifies, but his expression doesn’t change. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, and if she were to hear him ask that in any other emotional state, she would have thought it was sweet. But now, upset and hurting, she only finds it irritating.

“Absolutely,” she tells him, conviction adding steel to her voice. He wipes his face with his towel and nods slowly, considering what might happen if he tells her no. She can see the thoughts crossing his face, can see the moment that he decides that if he’s there, then she at least can’t get into too much trouble. She aims to prove him wrong. 

“I have some in the kitchen fridge,” he tells her slowly, and she claps her hands together.

“Then let’s go!” She says, turning on her heel, not waiting for him to follow her. He does though, close behind, and he opens the fridge before she can, reaching to the top shelf and pushing a few things out of the way. She catches the can of beer with one hand and cracks it open, taking a sip of it. Beer has never been her favorite, and it isn’t now, either; it’s far too bitter for her. 

“So, what brought this on?” He asks, and Eleanor raises an eyebrow at him.

“Did something have to bring it on?” It’s his turn to give her an incredulous look. She sighs and fidgets. “Fine. You’re right. I’m just… I just needed to unwind a little bit.”

He shrugs and accepts her answer, and doesn’t open the can of he pulled out for himself. She feels a little bad about that; he’s just been working out, and whatever demon beer is made of, it can’t help post-workout recovery. But it seems like he’s not going to open it up at all; he just sits it on the counter behind him and watches her pound her can back.

“I’ll be fine in the morning,” she assures him, and he gives her a look that says he doesn’t really believe her. “Promise,” she lies.

“Mm-hm,” he says, leaning against the edge of the counter with both of his palms pressed against it. She twists the pull tab around and snaps it off and drops it into the now-empty can, looking for something to do with her hands. “I’m going to go clean up. Don’t drink too much.”

She watches his retreating back and sighs, reaching for the can he left behind. He’s done with her little pity party, she can tell—but she isn’t ready to call it quits yet. Not when the night is still so young and she has a few more things she wants to accomplish.

* * *

The alcohol is easy to find; she knows that Lucifer likely has something good hidden in his desk, and she is rewarded for her snooping with a promising-looking bottle. The script on the label is faded and worn with age. She doesn’t care. Whatever it is, it will do. She tucks it under her arm and makes her way back to the kitchen which is, mercifully, empty. Beelzebub already made his midnight raid when he was drinking with her; she knows that she’ll have at least some time before anyone walks in on her miserable pity party. 

Her file is scattered on the counter beside the sink, over a decade of her life written up in clinical script and detached phrases. She flips through the familiar pages, feeling them against her fingertips. She can’t do this. Not yet.

 _Definitely not drunk enough_ , she thinks, feeling the weight of the bottle against her side. There’s a mean-looking wax seal on it, and she doubts there’s a screw-top lid waiting for her under it. 

So she improvises, and only cuts her finger a little as she tears through the seal with a knife. It rests on the counter when its job is done, far out of her grasp. Blood wells up and she pinches her fingertip, hoping to stem the sluggish bleeding. She takes a long swig from the bottle and regrets it immediately; the alcohol burns as it slides down her throat, the fumes bringing tears to her eyes. She coughs for good measure. _Whiskey_ , she thinks, and rolls her tongue in the aftertaste. _It’s fucking awful_. 

She takes another sip from the bottle, ignoring the dust on the glass neck. Soon enough she can feel the first warm licks of the drink in her veins and she feels brave enough, for the first time, to start pulling papers out. School transcripts—dozens and dozens of them, ranging from elementary to high school and then to college. She starts with the oldest papers first. 

“Got a light?” She asks the little sprite that’s been floating by her head ever since she broke into Lucifer’s office. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought it looked… worried. Concerned. She laughs and brings the bottle up to her lips again, enjoying the way the aged whiskey burns so painfully. And then, to her surprise, the sprite offers her a tiny little matchbook. 

“Thank you,” she says, setting her ill-gotten bottle on her file so she can struggle with the matches. Her injured finger makes lighting one a little difficult and her vision swims a little, but she manages it. 

And she drops the lit match into the sink, watching as the flames start to lick at the edges of the paper first before slowly making their way to the center. The typed letters disappear into char as if they were nothing, little more than kindling. _It’s all it is, after all_ , she thinks bitterly, looking into the flames as she takes another long drink.

But she doesn’t want her fun to end _too_ soon, so the next few papers—disciplinary reports from one of her elementary schools, based on the letterhead—she tears into strips, feeding them to the flames one at a time. If the fire licks too close to her fingertips, she doesn’t feel it, choosing instead to focus only on the ache in her chest.

Because it’s one of the things she’s really, truly _good_ at—picking at things until they fester, refusing to let them heal. Ignoring them until it’s too late. _And it really is too fucking late_ , she muses, noting with disappointment that her bottle is already almost half gone. _When did that happen?_ She wonders, dazed, looking around her. The dimly-lit kitchen blurs a little at the edges. She tosses a few more papers into the fire and, for good measure, a splash of whiskey follows them in. The fire races up to meet it, casting her face in a savage orange glow, and this is when she feels the tears streaming down her face.

It’s also when Lucifer finds her.

“I heard,” his gaze flickers over to the little sprite, which hovers somewhere near the side of her face, “that you were emotionally distraught.”

“I sure the fuck am,” she agrees, taking another long swig from the bottle. It’s as disgusting as ever, but she’s somewhat pleased to note that her tongue is starting to go numb. She puts the bottle down and almost pushes it away from her. 

“That was vintage,” he says, and Eleanor curls into herself over the sink, bracing her arms against the counter top. She can’t turn to look at him. Mostly because she’s afraid if she does, she’ll fall over, but also because there’s a tinge of shame there, too. She swipes at her eyes and reaches for the bottle again, ignoring the way her fingers tremble as they close around the neck of the bottle.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks, patience wearing thin. He steps forward, intending to pry his whiskey from her grasp, but she leans away from him. And stumbles. She catches herself on the kitchen table and looks at him as if he is the cause of her poor footing.

“Throwing a party,” she snorts. “Obviously.” She sees the way the flames cast one side of his face in harsh shadows, sees the flicker of flames against his pupils. Sees what she’s sure is growing irritation. Doesn’t care. Half wants him to shout at her because it would be anything but the numbness that’s eating at her now.

“And this?” He asks, picking up one of the papers and giving it a quick scan. 

“Bullshit,” she says, taking care to enunciate the word. “In other words. My life.” She laughs at her own joke and then, daring him to try and take the whiskey from her, drinks from the bottle again. This time, she can’t even feel the burn from it.

But she can feel the way it’s growing more difficult to stand, the way her head swims with her drink, and she doesn’t want to be falling-down drunk, not in front of Lucifer. So she clambers up onto the counter, sitting beside the dying fire in the sink, and reaches for another handful of papers. She’s proud of herself for coming up with this solution before she looks down and her vision swims again.

“Seventh grade,” she says conspiratorially, flashing the face of her paper at Lucifer. “Mmm, that was a… bad time. I moved ten times that year alone, you know?” A mournful look passes over her face as she reads through her statement. “You know how scary it is to start over that often? _Scary._ ” She answers her own question and throws the statement into the fire. “Full of strangers and questions _and_ each school always smells different, so you stick out like a… like a stranger.” She wrinkles her nose, caught in a fleeting memory, and throws a few more pieces of her file into the paper without looking at them. They’re not the originals anyway. Just memories. 

“And the cause for this… Celebration?” He pauses as he says the word, tasting it on his tongue before releasing it. She’s clearly distraught, and he has little experience with crying humans—at least, not ones who aren’t crying in fear. 

“‘S my birthday. Twenty one, baby. And I am _celebrating_ the fact that as of midnight, I’m legally emancipated. Free. Or,” her lips twist savagely as she tries to hide the fact that they’re trembling, “abandoned. Alone. Matter of perspective, really.” The alcohol swimming through her veins and churning in her stomach loosens her lips and briefly, she wonders if she’ll even remember this in the morning. Or whenever she wakes up. 

He takes note of the stray tear making its way down her face, sure that she’s unaware of it. At his side, his fingers twitch with the desire to wipe it away. But he ignores it and lets her continue, watches her sway as she struggles to remain upright. 

“Ask me what my birthday wish is.” She’s slurring her words now, badly, but she seems not to notice. 

“Is it not human custom that revealing the wish means it won’t come true?”

Her bark of laughter is unexpected and, surprisingly, _angry_ , and she grips the edge of the counter so hard her knuckles turn white. And as if she’s just noticed the wet on her cheeks, she swipes at her eyes again with the back of her hand, the movement destabilizing her again. Lucifer reaches out and grabs her shoulder so she doesn’t fall onto the floor.

“Doesn’t matter. It hasn’t anyway. _Won’t_ ,” she corrects herself, reaching up to rest one of her hands on his. “But I’ll tell you because I am very, very drunk, and I don’t think I’ll remember, and you don’t care anyway.” She pauses. Licks her lips and tastes nothing but whiskey. “I’ve always wanted a family. A real one. Somewhere to belong. Like you’ve got.”

And the admission is a dam breaking, even though she’s not sure he even heard her. Saying it out loud stings enough, and she’s not sure if the tears that fall freely now are fueled by the alcohol or not. Because she’s a coward and she knows it, can’t even tell the whole truth when she’s blazing drunk. It doesn’t matter, she decides. _It’s stupid anyway. I’m stupid_ , she thinks bitterly, bringing the bottle up to her lips again.

Only to find her movement arrested.

She whines in protest as he peels her fingers open and teases the bottle from her grasp, sitting it somewhere she can’t easily reach. 

“Hey,” she starts her protest, but it’s difficult to string together her thoughts into words. Harder still to get her lips to form those words. He holds the hand that’s reaching for the bottle captive in his own, giving her a warning squeeze when she tries weakly to pull away. She lets him keep her hand, feeling weak and boneless.

“You are going to be very, very sick,” he remarks, as if she’s unaware of her own condition; she starts to nod and then doesn’t like the way it makes her head spin, so she halts suddenly and presses her free hand to her temple. Lucifer tugs on her hand gently and she slumps against him, her shoulder pressing into his chest. He hooks one of his arms behind her knees and wraps the other around her back, as if he’s practiced peeling drunk humans off his kitchen counter before. The world tilts and she sucks in a sharp breath, reaching for anything she can hold onto as he lifts her from her perch.

“Ooooh no,” she moans, squeezing her eyes closed as she presses her forehead against his collarbone, trying to ground herself. “You're tall,” she tells him, trying to focus on the line his jaw makes because closing her eyes hasn’t helped at all.

“You need water and sleep.” His tone is softer than she’s expecting and she raises a hand and pats him on his cheek, smiling into his chest.

“Mmmmn.” It’s still difficult for her to make her mouth move the way she wants it to. “Are you going to take care of me?”

He stops walking and she has the fleeting thought that he’s going to dump her on the hard hallway floor for her impudence, so she grabs the collar of his waistcoat. The world spins as he turns sharply and walks in the opposite direction, away from her room. 

“My brothers shouldn’t see you like this.” She almost asks him what he means but the thought abandons her before she can. Instead, she sniffles and doesn’t notice the way more tears leak out onto his shirt. He notices; her tears are hot against his skin, but they cool rapidly, leaving little damp spots on the fabric.

They make it all the way to his room without any of his brothers stumbling upon the scene, and now that she’s no longer actively drinking or committing light arson in his kitchen, she’s half asleep in his arms. She stirs to full wakefulness when he drops her on his bed, blinking at her surroundings. 

“You’re staying here for the night,” he tells her, and she’s not sober enough to try to argue.

“Mm’kay,” she agrees pleasantly, knowing that at the very least, nobody is going to disturb her in the morning. She closes her eyes, sure that it’s only for a moment, but when she opens them Lucifer is in front of her holding a glass of cold water. Before she can fully process the image, he presses it to her lips and she has to either swallow or let it dribble down her face. She swallows; it does nothing to clear out the aftertaste of the whiskey, but it does feel good in her mouth.

“Good,” he tells her, lifting one of her hands so that she’s holding the glass herself. “Drink all of that.” He watches her carefully as she follows the order, and then takes the glass away from her. She drinks another full glass of water before he’s satisfied she’s not going to die of alcohol-induced dehydration, and then she falls back on his sheets, barely able to keep her eyes open. 

“I need t’ sleep,” she mumbles, closing her eyes and pressing one side of his face into his bed. The sheets are cool and silky and feel good against her face, which is all she cares about at the moment. 

“Then do so,” he says, voice low and soft in a way that makes her feel warm and comfortable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! In the US, there are some states the continue aid for children in the foster care system that reach the age of eighteen without being placed in a permanent home. This aid, unless relinquished, usually continues up until their twenty-first birthday.


	32. The Rebellious One

“Oi,” Mammon says, looking around the dining room to see there’s an empty chair. Even Leviathan and Asmodeus are there, which is truly a testament to how  _ strange _ it is that the human is missing. “Anyone see Eleanor? She wasn’t in her room.” More than half of the food is gone, and she’s not usually this late.

Lucifer hides his small smile behis his cup of tea, taking a deep sip. His brothers look between each other as if trying to figure out which one of them is hiding the human somewhere. 

“Well, don’t look at  _ me _ ,” Asmodeus says. “She didn’t go out with me last night.” Mammon puts his hands on his hips and looks at Leviathan, who only shakes his head. Satan keeps his head down, his nose in his book. He does wonder, privately, if he’s the cause of her disappearance. She’s impulsive, he knows, but he doubts she’s impulsive enough to do anything as stupid as running away. Especially over something as silly as taking care of finding the kitten a home. Which they were supposed to do anyway.  _ She knows that _ , he tells himself, trying to focus on his book. Her anger surprised him, regardless; he wouldn't be surprised if she's chosen to keep her head down for some time.

But Mammon is genuinely concerned, threading his fingers through the hair on the back of his head in a manner that Satan is certain he's picked up from Eleanor. Even Leviathan looks a little concerned.

"She wasn't on any of the game servers last night," he supplies, though he's still scrolling through something on his phone as if searching for any whisper of her online presence. There’s none to be found.

“Should… Should we go lookin’ for her?” Mammon asks.

“No,” Lucifer tells him calmly after draining the last of his tea.

She drags herself into the dining room then, looking about as good as she feels—which is terrible. She keeps her eyes downcast, refusing to look directly at any of the lights and grateful that the chatter in the dining room has stopped. Lucifer is unfazed by her appearance and doesn’t even turn to see her. The other brothers stare in varying stages of shock, but Asmodeus is the first one to comment.

“You look  _ awful _ ,” he says, shaking his head at her. 

“Good morning to you too, Asmo,” she says, her voice still a little raw from the tears and alcohol of the night before. All she wants is coffee and quiet so that her hangover can start to dissipate. The extra glass of water and two pills sitting on Lucifer’s bedside table—provided, she has no doubt, by Lucifer himself—helped immensely, but she still feels sick and needs something other than empty air in her stomach. She grabs some toast for good measure. Her sleeves—which are really Lucifer’s sleeves—are too long and she shoves them up around her elbows. 

“What—what’re you—where’ve you been?” Mammon demands, his voice far louder than Eleanor thinks is strictly necessary. He wants to know why she’s wearing one of Lucifer’s button-up shirts, but decides at the last moment that he might not be able to handle her answer. She presses a hand against her forehead and tries to fortify herself with a long sip of her coffee. 

“Sleeping,” she tells him, leaning against the dining table rather than sitting down in case she needs to make a quick exit. The looks the brothers are giving her tell her that she might have to. Leviathan sneaks glances at her bare legs every now and then before looking away, his entire face bright red. Asmodeus looks like he’s disappointed she didn’t bring her along to whatever scenario he’s concocted—which is, she thinks, actually very likely. It’s Satan, though, that concerns her the most. His brows are furrowed in something that seems to her like concern, except she can’t think of a very good reason for him to be concerned about anything. And he looks  _ angry, _ but she doesn’t have the energy to devote to trying to figure his moods out.  _ Or maybe it’s horror _ , she thinks, a headache blooming. 

“She helped herself to two-hundred year old whiskey last night, and I thought it prudent she not be left alone,” Lucifer explains, still focused on the report in front of him. He knows that not making eye contact with any of his brothers only irritates them and he takes a private sort of pleasure in it. 

“Did you take advantage of her?” Satan asks hotly, prompting shouts from Mammon and a coughing fit from Leviathan, while Asmodeus looks distinctly uncomfortable and Beelzebub slows the rate at which he’s spooning even more food onto his plate. Eleanor chokes on the piece of toast she’s chosen to try to inhale just the moment before.

“I rather think I did,” Lucifer says impassively. Emotionally, yes, she will concede that; she cried at him about things she never meant to even bring up. But that is not the way Satan means, and she shoots Lucifer a poisonous glare.

“No,” she corrects, but her denial is drowned out by the chaos that erupts across the dining room table. She winces at the noise and abandons her coffee on the table wishing that they’d all just  _ be quiet _ so she can clear up Lucifer’s deliberate miscommunication.  _ Why he’d ever  _ say _ something like that _ , she thinks, irritated.  _ I can’t even begin to imagine. _

“For the love of—I’m going to go take a bath, where I might just drown myself,” she informs them, pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation. Her announcement is just barely loud enough to cut through the brothers’ chaos, and once she’s sure that she has their attention (and there won’t be any bloodshed in front of her) she whirls around on her heel and leaves them.

The silence persists for a few moments after she’s gone, until Satan stands, forcefully shoving his chair out behind him. His reaction is only slightly out of the ordinary; he is the Avatar of Wrath, after all, but usually he is far more controlled than he is now.

“That’s settled, then,” he says, tone flat and even and dripping with false calm. “I’m going to make a pact with her.”

“Wait, hang on. You’re going to have to explain that,” Leviathan says, actually putting his phone down. He shares a look with Mammon, who looks borderline apoplectic. Beelzebub coughs and thumps a hand against his chest, having been taken so off-guard from the proclamation he swallowed his breakfast wrong.

“Exactly as I said. I’m going to make a pact with her.”

“ _ You? _ Hold on. You wouldn’t do that unless ya had some other motive.” Mammon narrows his eyes at his brother and puts his hands on his hips. “So, let’s hear it. What’s so interestin’’ about makin’ a pact all of a sudden?”

“Why else? Because if I make a pact with her, it’ll make life harder for a  _ certain someone _ .” Satan’s glare doesn’t move from Lucifer’s face the whole time and the animosity is back, palpable in the air.

“That’s enough,” Lucifer says, standing now to rise above Satan’s level.

“All I said was that it would make life hard for  _ someone; _ I didn’t indicate who that’d be. I have to say, Lucifer, you seem  _ awfully _ concerned about the pacts Eleanor is making, aren’t you?” The gauntlet is thrown. The brothers fall into silence again, broken first by Asmodeus clearing his throat.

“Levi, I feel like there’s something otaku and forum trolls like to say when things get heated like that. What was it again?” Asmodeus turns to Leviathan and smiles at his brother, happy to egg his other siblings into exchanging blows.

“Get out the popcorn,” Leviathan replies before he can think about what he’s been asked. Asmodeus claps his hands together once, pleased.

“That’s right! Get out the popcorn!”

“So, uh, today’s meal is really good, huh?” Leviathan says, his voice pitched up half an octave as he tries to smooth over the situation and find any other topic of conversation.

“It really is pretty good,” Beelzebub agrees, also wanting the tension in the room to dissipate. But Lucifer and Satan haven’t looked away from each other, both standing still as if waiting for the other to make the first move.

“Do you really dislike me that much, Satan?” There’s a quiet edge to his voice that makes his other brothers halt all cross chatter. Satan smiles savagely.

“Let me turn that question around on you. Did you honestly think I  _ liked _ you? Really?” If there wasn’t a table between them, they would likely be at each other’s throats.

“I see,” Lucifer says. “If that’s the way it’s going to be, then get out of this house, Satan. Now.”

“For once you’re giving me an order I’d be happy to follow,” Satan snaps, stepping away from the table. “I will.  _ Gladly _ .” Mammon steps forward, but not close enough to actually get in between the two.

“Woah. Just calm down, you two—”

“Let your ungrateful brother do as he pleases, Mammon,” Lucifer says, picking up his report and aligning the edges of the paper against the table.

Eleanor can hear the resulting explosion all the way in her room.

* * *

Eleanor stares at the four demons sitting on her bedroom floor, wondering what, exactly, she’d done in a past life to deserve everything she’s going through now. 

“And you’re saying Satan is running away?” She asks, wringing the water from her hair. It drops down onto the towel draped around her shoulders; she’s thankful she had the foresight to bring fresh clothes into the bathroom with her. 

“Yup!” Asmodeus says happily. “He said he was going to make a pact with you, and then Lucifer kicked him out. Do you  _ want _ a pact with him?” Eleanor shrugs at the question. 

“I need one, if the plan is going to work. To get Lucifer and Belphegor to make up,” she clarifies, seeing the wash of confusion on his face. She sits down on her floor in between all of them, and Asmodeus drags the towel away from her shoulders, combing through her hair with his hands. She can feel him tugging at it slightly and then realizes that he’s braiding it. 

“If they make amends, then Belphegor might be able to come back from the human world,” Beelzebub says, and Eleanor closes her eyes so he can’t see the way she looks at him, sad and quiet. Finished with the braid, Asmodeus drapes it across her shoulder and then leans on her back, resting his chin on the top of her head. 

“Whaddya think you’re doin’, Asmo? Quit snugglin’ up against Eleanor like that!” Eleanor winces as she remembers the last night in Diavolo’s castle, and carefully extricates herself from between the two brothers, going to sit instead between Leviathan and Beelzebub. She feels much better after her bath, but she doesn’t want to test the bounds of the hangover she’s still nursing. 

“Well, that  _ is _ a bold idea you’ve come up with. You’re so unpredictable. I actually love that about you, you know?” Heedless of the way she moved away from him and Mammon’s warning, Asmodeus lays a heavy hand on the inside of her knee. Mammon’s further protests go further ignored, and Leviathan laughs. 

“It’s like someone cast an invisibility spell on him,” Leviathan says, and Eleanor taps his ribs with her elbow.  _ Not nice _ , she wants to tell him. 

“Well regardless, I’m not surprised that Satan decided to make a pact with you, then. He’ll do anything if it means upsetting Lucifer—the fact that you mean so much to him is only an added bonus.” Eleanor sighs heavily at Asmodeus’s words and almost runs her fingers through her hair before she remembers that it’s braided. 

“I  _ don’t _ mean anything to him, though. I keep telling you—”

“You came out of his room after a night of drinking wearing  _ his clothes _ , and you mean nothing to him,” Asmodeus rephrases her words, and Eleanor leans against Beelzebub, feeling her headache coming back once again. 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Besides, nothing happened. I cried on him, probably got snot on his coat. Hardly sexy.” It’s Asmodeus’s turn to nod now as he agrees with Eleanor’s words.

“... Still,” Beelzebub interrupts. “I don’t think that you’ll earn Lucifer’s respect that way. Not if Satan makes a pact with you because he thinks it’ll hurt Lucifer.”

“Why does Satan hate Lucifer so much, anyway?” She asks, looking between the brothers.

“I guess you could say it’s like… the more alike two people are, the more they hate each other?”

“More of an Oedipus complex thing,” Leviathan muses, countering Asmodeus’s explanation. Mammon shakes his head and holds up both of his hands, indicating that everyone should stop talking.

“Woah, woah. Slow down, kiddies. Eleanor is just a clueless human. A bottom-dwellin’ peabrain. It ain’t gonna be easy explainin’ why Satan’s so crazy cynical. I mean, it’s complicated. And as the oldest and the smartest and the most badass demon here, you’d best leave it to me. This is a job for Mammon,” he finishes, hooking both of his thumbs back to indicate himself. Eleanor kicks out a leg and catches him lightly on the knee for the insults, and then sticks out her tongue when she has his attention.

“Ooh, now that’s funny. A fleabrain calling someone  _ else _ a peabrain!” Asmodeus laughs in a way that tells everyone he doesn’t actually find it funny. 

“Pot, kettle, black,” Leviathan agrees.

“Whatever,” Mammon grouses, catching Eleanor’s foot before she can draw it back under herself. “Just shut up and listen, losers!” He clears his throat and leans forward as if he’s telling a campsite story. The effect is somewhat ruined by the fact that they’re in Eleanor’s bedroom and there’s no flame in sight.

“Let’s start at the beginning. We first came here to the Devildom because there was some, uh… trouble. Ya know. Stuff happened. To put it in simple terms, it was a bit of a family feud between us and our father. And at the time, Lucifer was real,  _ real _ mad at our father, ya see? And Satan was born from that wrath. Make sense?”

Eleanor tries pulling her leg back, but he keeps it trapped so she can’t try to kick him again. Finally, she nods.

“Like Athena, right? Oh, wait—don’t tell him I said that.” Her face goes a little red in embarrassment; she’s sure that neither one of them would particularly enjoy the comparison. Beelzebub nods and she can feel him shifting behind her. 

“At first, Satan was nothing but the emotion. We all had a hand in… raising him,” Beelzebub tests out the word but can’t think of another that would fit better. “But Lucifer had the most influence.”

“Right,” Leviathan interjects. “Satan feels like he wouldn’t exist without Lucifer.”

“So it’s like he’s bound to Lucifer in that way, and he doesn’t like it,” Beelzebub concludes.

“But Lucifer isn’t just an overbearing father figure when it comes to Satan, you know? I’d say he suffocates all of us.” Asmodeus’s words are flippant in a way that almost makes Eleanor laugh, but she doesn’t want to mar the gravity of the situation. She chews on her bottom lip and then tries to stand.

“I’ve gotta go talk to him,” she says, more to herself than anyone else. Mammon lets go of her leg so that she can stand steadily. “Maybe I can talk some sense into him.” She rubs the side of her face, already exhausted.  _ But hey, _ she tells herself.  _ I did help this along; the least I could do is try and fix it. _

“Please don’t follow me,” she says before anyone can proclaim that they’ll be accompanying her. This is directed mostly at Mammon. “I need to talk with him alone, I think.” To her surprise, they all remain seated when she walks out of her room. She remains unimpeded all the way to Satan’s door, and  _ that _ is when her nerves start to pick up. Still, she knocks on his door.

“Come in,” he tells her, and so she steps inside to find it a mess. Books are piled around, out of their normal places. She looks at the scene and frowns. 

“Ah, Eleanor,” he says, finally looking her way. “It’s you. Did someone tell you to come here and stop me? Because if so, you’re wasting your time.”

“Nobody told me to do anything,” she tells him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Of course they didn’t. They all think this is funny. Anyway, I’m trying to decide which of my books to take with me, since I can’t possibly take them all.” He looks down at the one he holds in his hands and then after a moment, places it on one of his piles. She wonders if it’s the pile he plans on taking with him.

“I wanted to apologize,” she starts, but he doesn’t let her finish. 

“Do you think this is because of you?” He asks, laughing in her face. She reels back from him as if slapped, frowning.  _ No wait. I had my emotional outburst. Let him have his _ , she tells herself, schooling her face back into a mask of neutrality. “Do you feel responsible for this? You think this is about  _ you? _ Don’t make me laugh. This was going to happen regardless.” But he looks so sad when he says it that it makes  _ her _ sad; she knows a few things about running away, enough to know when it’s a cry for help rather than the desire to actually escape. So she waits out his acidic words until they dry up, and then she steps closer to him. 

“Do you like books?” He asks, taking her by surprise.

“ _ In liber librum. _ Yes,” she tells him with a shrug. He looks at her appraisingly and then half smiles at her.

“I guess you’re not so bad after all,” he tells her, and she moves forward again, hoping that the onslaught of his fury has subsided enough. 

“Watch your step,” he orders sharply. “A lot of my most precious books and documents are over there!” He picks one up reverently as if even having her just look at it would harm the binding. “Every one of the books in this room belongs to me. They’re all part of my collection; that shelf there is full of books having to do with magic. And these are all ancient manuscripts. Over there are astronomy and physics.” He points to each shelf in turn and she leans closer to one of the book piles he’d been working on, almost touching the topmost volume.

“Be careful with that one,” he cautions her, and then frowns. “Actually… don’t even touch it. Back away.” She does so, and he calms down again. 

“Books are knowledge, and all of the knowledge from these books is inside me. Knowledge is power. People respect others who are well-informed. If you’re smart enough, then people can’t dismiss you.” He pauses for a moment, tracing his fingers over another one of his books. His gaze is distant, and then he focuses on Eleanor again. “I’m guessing that my loose-lipped brothers already told you about me, right? About the circumstances of my birth?”

Eleanor shrugs and is careful not to brush her sleeves against any of his things. “Yeah,” she admits.

“Hmm. Let’s get this pact over with, then,” he says, holding out a hand for her. “That’s why you're here, right? Well, I said I’d do it, so I will.”

She does not take his hand. Eleanor keeps her arms carefully crossed.  _ That’s not why I’m here, _ she wants to say.

“I’m not making a pact with you,” is what comes out instead. He reacts immediately, scowling at her from a few feet away. The wisps of her hair not captured by Asmodeus’s braid flutter around her face in a magical wind. 

“What did you say?” He asks, voice low and dangerous and terribly, terribly angry. “I told you I’d make a pact with you. You can’t seriously be planning on  _ rejecting me _ ? You, a human… reject  _ me? _ Don’t you  _ dare, _ ” He hisses, and Eleanor makes the mistake of having to blink. When she opens her eyes he’s right in front of her, snarling in her face, but his control hasn’t yet slipped out of his grasp. She’s relieved to see him still wearing his street clothes and not sporting horns or a tail. 

“Do you think I’m called the Avatar of Wrath for nothing?” He asks, and the wind picks up, sending a few precariously-placed books toppling to the floor. She looks up at him, resisting the need to blink again and trying to master the fear creeping up within her. “I usually work to contain my anger so it doesn’t show, but I  _ will _ make you suffer if you cross me. And it will be much more cruel and much less humane than anything my brothers would ever do. I’ll slice off your nose and ears, rip off your arms and legs, and feed you to some lower-level demon,” he tells her, his hands hovering above her shoulders but not actually touching her. 

“Listen well, human. If you dare say that you won’t make a pact with me again, you’ll pay for it in blood.”

And she believes him. It’s a minor miracle that she can keep herself from trembling in front of him because she has no problem imagining him ripping her throat out as he stands in front of her. But she also isn’t going to let him seal a pact with her, not like this.  _ Not if he’s only going to resent me later for it _ , she tells herself.  _ Not if either one of us is going to regret it. _ So she stands her ground instead and is preparing to deny him again, when she just barely hears his bedroom door open behind them.

“Enough, Satan,” Lucifer growls, and Satan stands up straight and takes a few steps back and away from her. “Eleanor is our guest, whom Diavolo invited as part of our exchange program. I won’t permit you to lay a hand on our exchange student.” Lucifer moves to stand in front of her, and this is when the wind truly picks up. She feels like she’s stuck in the middle of a localized tornado; the occasional book wings past her, airborne. 

“Oh, there you go again. Diavolo this, Diavolo that…! You’re telling me that you’d actually step in to defend a  _ human? _ For  _ Diavolo? _ Well, I had no idea you were such a  _ sweetheart _ ,” Satan hisses, and a book clips the top of Eleanor’s ear. She winces and cups it, but does not dare to leave the room.

“Calm down. Don’t give into your rage, Satan,” Lucifer commands.

“You’re telling me not to give in to my rage?  _ You _ , of all demons?” There’s a tone to his voice that makes the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and she moves behind Lucifer, trying to get to Satan.  _ I have to try something _ , she’s thinking when one of Lucifer’s arms shoots out and arrests her movement. 

“Didn’t you hear me?” Lucifer continues as if he hadn’t moved at all. “I said to  _ stop _ .” One of the books swirling about the room flies dangerously close to Lucifer’s face, and he catches it out of the air as if it were nothing. 

“Don’t you tell me what to do!” Satan protests. “And don’t touch my books!” Irate, Satan reaches out for the book, the one that he’d warned Eleanor away from not that long ago. There’s a brief flash and the sensation of something snapping when the two demons touch the book at the same time.

The wind dies down suddenly; the books picked up in its fury fall to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, okay. The body-switching arc is starting.


	33. The Body Switch

Lucifer and Satan stand and stare at each other in horror, and it’s Satan who makes the first move, reaching out to Lucifer. Lucifer bats his hand away.

“What did you do?” Lucifer asks, and Eleanor backs away from him slowly. It’s his voice, his body—but the cadence, the posture, all of it is different.  _ Which is a ridiculous thought _ , Eleanor considers, leaning away from Lucifer. She’s not certain if Satan is still murderously angry with her or not, and she doesn’t particularly want to risk getting eviscerated. 

“It can’t be,” Satan says, just as Lucifer says “why’s there another  _ me _ here?”

“What?” She asks, backing away from both demons because  _ something _ has gone horribly, horribly wrong, and she desperately wants Mammon or Beelzebub at her side. 

“That  _ was _ the book I thought it was,” Satan says contemplatively, looking at the book Lucifer still has in a vice grip. 

“Lucifer!” Lucifer grinds out. “What’s going on? Why have you taken my form? What is it you’re plotting?” The rapid-fire questions make Eleanor’s head spin, and she takes another step away from Lucifer.

“I’m not plotting anything. Calm down, Satan,” Satan says, trying to placate his brother. “It’s not that I took your form; it’s that we’ve switched bodies. The book,” Satan points to the volume in Lucifer’s hand, “causes any who touch it at the same time to switch bodies.”

Eleanor sucks in a breath and winces, waiting for Satan to throw some sort of fit. The fallout from that now that he’s in Lucifer’s form would be particularly tragic, she’s sure, so she edges closer to the door. 

“No,” Satan-in-Lucifer’s-body says with a shake of his head. “No, no.” But his denials aren’t because he disbelieves his brother’s words—the evidence to the contrary is, unfortunately, overwhelming.

“Eleanor,” Lucifer-in-Satan’s-body says, finally focusing on her. “Please gather everyone else in the living room.”  _ An out _ , she thinks with a nod of her head, happy to have any excuse to leave Satan’s bedroom as quickly as possible.

“You got it,” she says, and with one final look between the two, she dashes away.  _ This is bad, this is so, so bad _ , she thinks, her quick footsteps almost keeping pace with her beating heart as she makes her way from Satan’s room to her own. Mammon, she thinks, will likely still be there. Beelzebub as well, possibly, but she has her doubts that either Leviathan or Asmodeus would stick around.

“Meeting in the living room, now,” she says, peeking her head into her bedroom. The rest of the brothers haven’t left, thankfully, so she doesn’t have to hunt any of them down. “Something, um… Happened.” She doesn’t want to explain the predicament here and now, not without the people who are actually affected by it.  _ It’s their story to tell _ , she tells herself.

“I’ll say,” Leviathan says, standing and reaching out to her face hesitantly. He doesn’t touch her—he’s not bold enough just yet, and besides, she might pull away. “You’re bleeding.”

Her hand flies up to her ear which has been throbbing for the past few minutes. Fingertips come away sticky with a smear of drying blood. She looks at the darkening liquid and hums to herself, rubbing it between her fingers.  _ I didn’t even notice _ , she thinks, remembering the way one of Satan’s books clipped her.  _ That must have been it. _ .

“Knew you shouldn’t’a gone alone,” Mammon says, sounding pained. “What’d that bastard do to ya? I’ll wallop him.”

“ _ No. _ ” She tells him forcefully.  _ Lucifer’ll kill him if he tries _ , she winces to herself. He blinks at her ferocity and stands, as if he might just go rushing off to find Satan anyway.

“No,” she says, calmer now. “It was an accident. Look, it’s just a scratch—not even bleeding anymore.” She reaches out and grabs his hand, and he lets her tug his fingers up to her ear. He still doesn’t look happy, but at least he’s placated for the moment. Eleanor resists the urge to sigh in relief.

“You said something about a meeting in the living room,” Beelzebub points out, and Eleanor nods, letting go of Mammon’s hand. 

“Right. We really do have to go. Ooh, this is so annoying,” she says the last part to herself, piquing Asmodeus’s curiosity. 

* * *

She’s glad that Lucifer and Satan explain the whole thing because she’s still trying to wrap her mind around it. The idea that, with the aid of magic, people could switch bodies she can mostly accept, even if she does still think it a little ludicrous. It’s the surly expression on Lucifer’s face ( _ Satan’s _ , she reminds herself) and the still, tight way Satan ( _ Lucifer _ ) holds himself that really throws her. The brothers seem just as nonplussed, with the exception of one.

“... For real?” Beelzebub asks once their explanation is through, one of his eyebrows raised. 

“No way,” Mammon says, shaking his head. Leviathan watches the scene, the lone holdout. Instead of confused, he looks utterly bored.

“Eh.” He shrugs his shoulders and looks between Satan and Lucifer, his expression not changing at all.

“Whatddya mean  _ eh? _ ” Mammon squawks, gesturing to Lucifer and Satan. “ _ This is a big deal! _ ”

“Like, it’s just that the whole switching bodies story is standard anime fair. I’ve seen it a million times before.” He speaks as if it’s the most obvious thing in the whole world, and draws sharp looks from most of his brothers and Eleanor.

“This ain’t an anime, Levi! This is for real!” Mammon gestures again to Lucifer and Satan, and Satan only rubs Lucifer’s forehead in irritation.

“I can’t believe this is happening. How am I supposed to explain this to Diavolo?” For the briefest of moments, Eleanro thinks they’ve switched back, somehow. That whatever magic mixed them up has come to an end. But then Satan’s lips twitch in a way she’s certain they never would if Lucifer was the one piloting them, and Asmodeus laughs.

“Satan, were you doing an impression of Lucifer just now?”

“Naturally,” he sniffs, sticking his nose up in the air in an uncanny imitation of his eldest brother.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Lucifer says, adjusting his sleeves—which are really Satan’s sleeves. It’s a small thing, but it makes Eleanor realize how truly uncomfortable he is with the whole scenario. 

“So, Lucifer,” Beelzebub says, looking at Satan. “Are you two going to go back to normal eventually?”

“Beel, that’s Satan over there.  _ I’m _ Lucifer,” Lucifer says, and Beelzebub frowns, looking between the two of them.

“Oh, right,” Beelzebub sighs.  _ Right there with you, buddy, _ Eleanor thinks. Satan clears his—Lucifer’s—throat and stands up a little straighter, happy to have information relevant to the current crisis. 

“According to the literature on this subject, the effect is supposed to last for several days.” All eyes turn to him; Asmodeus looks delighted with the turn of events, and Leviathan is incredibly envious.

“Aww, lucky,” Leviathan pouts. “That means you get to skip school and hang out in your room playing games all you want until it’s over. I’m so jealous…” He lets his sentence trail off, and Eleanor wonders if he’s considering finding the book to perform a body switch of his own. 

“Oh, no,” Lucifer corrects. “We’re going to school. If we stay home, Diavolo will probably start asking questions.” Mammon nods sagely and makes a noise of agreement. 

“Yeah, and if you try to play it off like you’re sick of something, then he’ll worry even more. He’ll show up here at the house and insist on taking care of you,” Asmodeus says, but the glee on his face is clear.

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Eleanor says before she can stop herself, earning her a few incredulous glances. 

“I don’t want Diavolo knowing I’ve allowed a mistake like this to happen,” Lucifer admits, ignoring Eleanor completely. The admission makes Satan bristle and draw himself up to Lucifer’s full height.

“So, this is all about saving face, huh?”

“It doesn’t matter what this is about,” Lucifer says, his patience waning. One of his brows twitches in irritation, and Eleanor wonders if that’s muscle memory left over from Satan. “Until we return to normal, you are to stay with me whenever possible. Understand?”

“Hard pass,” Satan hisses. “I don’t think so.” The rest of the brothers exchange nervous glances.

“I don’t like it any more than you do, but it seems we’ve got no choice. I need to keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t take advantage of the situation,” Lucifer points out. “You can protest all you want, but that’s the way it’s going to be. You’re not to leave my side. Understood?” It’s a bizarre echo of what he told Eleanor not too long ago, and if the situation were a little less ridiculous she might have thought it was intentional. 

“Absolutely not. Forget it,” Satan says flatly. 

“In case you’ve forgotten, SAtan, I look like  _ you _ as well,” Lucifer tells him, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Satan growls, a noise which makes Eleanor shiver; she never thought she’d hear something like that coming from Lucifer, of all people. 

“Now things’re gettin’ interesting!” Mammon says, rubbing his hands together. It’s clear to Eleanor that he’s already cooking up one scheme or another to take advantage of the situation. 

“In any event,” Lucifer starts, throwing a warning glare at Mammon. “You’ll be staying in my room until we both return to normal.”

“We might have no choice but to stay where we can see each other, but I’m  _ not _ staying in your room! Anything but that!” Satan protests, and Eleanor feels a pang of sympathy for him. After all, he’d just been trying to run  _ away _ from his brother, and now they’re stuck together at the hip for an indeterminable amount of time. 

“Your room is littered with books; it’s impossible to even step foot in there,” Lucifer dismisses with a wave of his hand.  _ Lucifer’s room  _ does _ have less in it _ , Eleanor thinks to herself.  _ But the thought of those two sharing a space for so long is…  _ She shivers uncomfortably, not sure any one room would be able to handle it.

“If you give me something to eat, I’ll let you use my room,” Beelzebub says with a smile, and that actually seems like it might be the best option. After all, it  _ is _ designed for two people. But Satan shoots down the idea with a shake of his head.

“No thanks. If we sleep in your room, you’ll end up sleepwalking over and taking a bite out of me in the middle of the night.” 

Eleanor  _ almost _ points out that she spent several nights in his room with nothing negative to show for it but wisely keeps her mouth shut.

“Uh, just so we’re clear, I’m  _ not _ letting you use my room. I’ve got too many priceless figurines and super-rare posters in there.” Levi shakes his head, thinking of all the damage they could do to his various treasures.

“We didn’t  _ ask _ you, Levi,” Satan snaps. Mammon offers them all a long-suffering sigh and a smug grin. 

“Fine then, guess I ain’t got a choice. Okay, if both of you pay me a proper sum for each and every night you spend, then you can stay in—”

“Asmo,” Satan interrupts. “What about your room?”

Asmodeus pulls a face and shakes his head. “Pass. I mean, we’re talking about my castle, and every inch of it is dedicated to ensuring that I always look beautiful. That’s just the way it is, I’m afraid.”

“Hey!” Mammon protests at being cut off, but his brothers ignore him. Eleanor shoots him a sympathetic glance. 

“Lets see, we need a room that’s fairly large, where there are no problems with the room  _ or _ its occupant, and it needs to be someone who isn’t allowed to refuse us…” His gaze settles like a weight on the only human room, and she squirms under his intensity. “So then, Eleanor, it looks like Satan and I will be staying with  _ you _ for a while. Please pardon the imposition.” Eleanor blanches, wanting to protest.  _ I guess I can just bunk with someone else for the time being _ , she thinks, chewing on her bottom lip. 

“Wh—hey!” Mammon protests, stepping between Lucifer and Eleanor so that his brother’s line of sight is cut off. 

“It’s the only solution,” Lucifer intones, which almost makes Eleanor roll her eyes.  _ A bit dramatic, don’t you think? _ Mammon stiffens, and she presses a palm in between his shoulder blades to calm him.

“It’s fine,” she whispers into his ear. Then to Lucifer and Satan, she says: “I guess you should go and get your things, then.”

This, at least, gets the room moving. Lucifer nods, finding her statement reasonable. Satan stalks off, still clearly furious.

* * *

Her room, she decides, was not meant to play host to a human and six demons all at the same time. It’s spacious enough, sure, especially when it’s just her—but now that they’ve all reconvened thereafter Lucifer and Satan grabbed their necessities, she sees how almost every inch is taken up. It’s almost claustrophobic.

“Well then,” Lucifer says, clearing his throat. “It makes sense that Eleanor is here because we’re in her room… But Mammon, Asmo—what exactly are you two doing here?” He looks between his two interloping brothers with a frown that isn’t all that out of place on Satan’s face.

“W-well… Uh, ya see… Um…” Mammon frowns and blushes just a little bit, and Eleanor fights the urge to sigh.

“‘Why do  _ you _ two get to be in this room, watchin’ Eleanor undress and sleep, even first thing in the mornin’ while I don’t? It ain’t fair, I’m jealous as hell, and I wanna be in on this too, dammit!’ … Is that what you’re getting at?” Asmodeus asks his brother.

“Nobody’s watching me undress,” Eleanor protests with a tight frown.

“Hey!” Mammon protests, not hearing her at all. “Stop impersonatin’ me!”

“But you didn’t protest,” Asmodeus points out with a sly smile. “Leviathan is back in his room watching some show, and Beelzebub is in the kitchen. I’m only here because it looked like it could become interesting,” he says with a waggle of his eyebrows. Eleanor presses cool fingertips against her temple, thanking all of the good things in the universe that her hangover has passed. She’s not sure she’d survive the most recent antics with one. 

Lucifer clears his throat. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s ignore those two and continue our conversation,” he says, and proceeds to lay out basic ground rules for the time being. They seem reasonable to Eleanor: no interfering in the other’s personal business, no doing anything to attract attention to their predicament. They lapse into silence after a moment, having come to a very uneasy, temporary truce.

“Ooh, does this mean that the meeting’s over? Okay then!” Asmodeus claps his hands together and looks at two of his brothers. “Lucifer, want to take a bath with me?”

“Excuse me?” Lucifer asks with a raised eyebrow. Asmodeus shakes his head. 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean the  _ real _ Lucifer. I meant the one in Lucifer’s body,” he says, and Eleanor takes that at her cue to flee. Whatever chaos Asmodeus is planning, she doesn’t want to be caught in the crossfire. She finds herself in the kitchen, breathing in the warm aroma of something bubbling in the cauldron over the fire.

“What’re you making?” She asks, leaning close to Beelzebub so she can try to sneak a peek at his concoction. Beelzebub looks down at her, the ladle in his hand poised to scoop something into the bowl in his other hand. 

“Soup,” he says, spooning some into a waiting bowl. He presses the bowl into her hands and she looks down at it. “You’re still sad, right?”

“I…” she looks back up at him, stricken, and swallows hard.  _ Yeah _ , she wants to tell him, but he already knows. He nods as if he’d heard her thoughts clearly, then pours another bowl for himself. 

“This is Belphie’s favorite thing to eat whenever he’s feeling sad,” Beelzebub says, indicating the soup in both of their bowls, and that… Well, that almost breaks her heart. She looks at him softly and reaches out to him and laces the fingers of her free hand through his. 

“Thanks,” she says softly, and sits down next to him at the table. And then, because that doesn’t seem like enough to express her gratitude and the warm, fuzzy feeling in her heart, she leans into him and kisses him on his cheek. He lets her and gives her hand a small squeeze; not enough to get anywhere near pain, but enough to remind her that their hands are still interlocked. 

“I’ll clean up,” she tells him once they’ve finished. It feels like they’ve been in the kitchen for hours, which may, she considers, actually be a fact. Their conversation was light, carefully guided away from anything he thought might have been a sore subject. She’s thankful for that, more than she can really express now. And as much as she wants to spend more time with him, she has another task to do. “Please,” she adds when he looks like he might protest.

He relents and leaves, and she moves as quickly as she can just in case he comes back. Once everything is more or less in order, she takes a container of the leftover soup and heads directly for the attic. Her way is unimpeded; everyone else has something to do, she supposes, leaving the way clear.

“Hey,” she says to announce her presence, sitting right outside of the door to Belphegor’s makeshift jail cell. He cracks an eye open, and she wonders if he’d even actually been asleep. She watches him carefully as he moves her way, sitting directly across from her. If it weren’t for the spelled door in between them, she’s sure they could touch.  _ This is the closest we’ve ever been _ , she considers, looking at him hard.

“To what do I owe this… Pleasure?” He asks, raking his gaze up and down her form. She frowns at him and slides the leftover soup his way; the container just barely fits under the lowest bar. He takes it and cracks the lid opening, sniffing at the contents.

“He said it was your favorite,” she explains, not having to explain who the  _ he _ is. “So I thought you’d like some.”

Belphegor nods, and then looks at her contemplatively. “Beel only makes this when someone is sad.” He looks at her hard again, and seems to find the thing he’s looking for because he leans back. “It’s you, isn’t it? Why?”

“I’m not telling you my tragic backstory, Belphegor,” she snorts, looking down and picking at her nails so she doesn’t have to look at him. “Not all that interesting anyway.”

His lips twitch at her. He wants to tell her that she’s a strange, strange human, that if she was going to act so bristly then she shouldn’t bother with the overtures of friendship. But she is, save for the scant few times Lucifer deigns to visit, his only companion for the moment. The thought galls him. 

“Humans rarely are,” he says just to aggravate her. She makes a show of rolling her eyes and scowling at him, but he’s surprised to note that she seems oddly pleased at how easily he agrees to change the conversation. “So. You close to him, then?”

Her hands twist in her lap and he watches her expression change into one of worried contemplation. 

“I hope so,” she tells him, more truthful than she meant to be. The moment of naked truth takes Belphegor aback slightly, and he leans away from her, thinking that if she weren’t so miserably  _ human _ she and his brother  _ might _ not make a terrible match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo...
> 
> what do you say to a spot of smut?


	34. Gambling Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah no excuses, this is pretty much all smut with a smattering of angst, skip if you want

She talks with Belphegor for what feels like ages, filling him in on most of the antics his brothers have been up to. He listens with rapt attention, even if he does doze off a few times in the middle of a story. She’s no replacement for his brothers, she knows, but he looks… happy. At least, she hopes so. And without his constant faint scowl, he looks much nicer. _Well, no shit_ , she tells herself, pausing her most recent story to chastise herself. 

Belphegor cracks an eye open at the sudden lapse in her voice and she reminds herself of where she is, realizes her throat hurts slightly from her constant stream of talking. A quick glance at her phone tells her she’s been with him for _hours_ , and she pales slightly.

“I’d better get back,” she tells him, pocketing her phone again. “Before someone comes looking for me.” He inclines his head in understanding but doesn’t say anything, choosing to readjust himself into a more comfortable position against the door.

“That can’t be comfortable,” she tells him awkwardly as she stands, and still, he says nothing, letting her drown in the silence. She puffs her cheeks out in irritation. _I’m trying to be nice here and you’re giving me nothing to work with_ , she almost tells him, but settles on a muttered “bye.”

And she can’t be certain because his voice is soft and low, but she thinks that when she starts descending the stairs she hears a muffled “goodbye.”

* * *

She’s missed dinner and is grateful that nobody went looking for her, but based on the arguing she hears coming from her room, everyone else was too busy to notice her absence. The morning feels like a million years ago, and if she’d known at the time how the day would have gone, she might have elected to just stay in Lucifer’s bed. 

_Lucifer_.

She frowns at the reminder that he’s there. Waiting. In her room. With Satan. Because they’ve managed to switch bodies. Eleanor buries her head in her hands and groans, not wanting to return to her room. Not because she dislikes either of the demons there, but because she has no doubt that they’re fighting—or worse, very pointedly ignoring each other—and she has no desire to be caught in _that_ particular crossfire. She wonders if Beelzebub would let her sleep in his room again without Lucifer ordering it and has just made up her mind to find him and ask when she finds herself waylaid. 

“Oi, there you are,” Mammon says, crossing his arms and frowning at her slightly. _No, wait. That’s a pout_ , she corrects. “I wanted to talk to you.” His eyes dart around as if paranoid that one of his brothers is going to materialize somewhere within the lounge, and he uncrosses his arms to hold out a hand to her. 

“Okay,” she says, an eyebrow quirked at his mannerisms. “So, let’s talk.” She pats the seat beside her on the couch, but he only shakes his head. _Uh oh. Am I in trouble?_

“Privately,” he says, almost stumbling over the single word. Her curiosity is piqued, so she stands and takes his hand, letting him pull her up the stairs to the second floor of the house. Where every bedroom but one is. _My, my,_ she thinks, grinning to herself. _Just where is this going, Mammon?_

But he doesn’t say anything, not as they ascend the stairs and not when they make it to his room. Even more irritating, he doesn’t even _do_ anything, not even once his bedroom door is shut all the way. She looks around, noting the extravagant design choices— _is that a car?_ She eyes the loft area—while he stares somewhere around her knees to avoid looking at her face.

“Mammon—” she starts, reaching out to his face. But he doesn't let her finish, cutting her off and grabbing her wrist before she can say anything else. 

“Don’t like them bein’ in your room, ‘s all,” he tells her, and his pout has transformed into something less petulant and more, she thinks sadly, along the lines of worry or heartbreak.

“I’m not super enthused about it either,” she points out, wiggling her fingers so the tendons in her wrist flex, reminding him that he’s still holding her hostage. He lets her go and she drapes her arm over his shoulder. “I was thinking of maybe asking someone else if I could sleep in their room for the time being.”

His expression goes uncharacteristically stormy as he frowns. “No. I don’t want—you shouldn’t—” but then he falls into silence, unsure how to end his own protest. She cants her head to the side, looking at him, and then drapes her other arm over his other shoulder.

“What _do_ you want, Mammon?” She asks, her arms around his shoulders, fingers laced together behind his head. _Please say you want me_ , she thinks, but she won’t tell him that, doesn’t want to influence him in any way with the pact or her own silly, selfish needs. She can only hope her want isn’t etched into her face. 

“I want…” He pauses. The tip of his tongue darts out to lick his lips as he looks at her mouth. “To kiss you,” he finally finishes, and she looks at him. Part of her is elated, but the other part—the greedy, selfish part that she tries so hard to keep quiet—is disappointed. That part of her she ignores.

“Okay,” she says, and he looks at her like he’s waiting for the punchline, like he’s expecting her to pull away and laugh. “ _Okay_ ,” she tells him again, wondering if he’d been expecting her to say something else. And when he still just _stares_ at her, hands somewhere around her lower ribs, she frowns at him. “If you don’t kiss _me,_ then I’m going to kiss _you_.”

And that’s what does it. He reacts as if he’s just snapped back to reality, leaning down to capture her lips in his and _oh_ , she thinks, half dazed. _That’s right. He’s good at this._ She leans into him and he accepts her weight graciously, maneuvering them so he doesn’t have his back against the wall anymore. 

“Y-y’know, I _suppose_ I could let ya sleep here tonight. Do you a favor,” he says pulling away from her so that he can speak. She almost whines at him until his words sink in, and then she blinks up at him and smiles. The blush on his cheeks is at odds with the glint in his eye, as if he’s mentally several steps ahead. “My bed’s big enough for the both of us.”

Her heart thuds in her chest and she looks away from him to glance meaningfully over at his sheets, already half pulled away from his bed. “Oh? Guess we’d have to test that,” and remembering how he liked it when she bit down on his lip the first time, she does it again. One of his hands tangles in her hair, and the other finds its way down to cup her ass, pressing her hips to his. He’s _quiet_ and she’s almost concerned that she has, somehow, managed to read the situation wrong even though his tongue is in her mouth and one of his hands is playing with the band of her pants. 

“Y-yeah?” He breathes, and she tugs at his jacket, pulling it off her shoulders and down his arms. He takes it from her and tosses it somewhere behind them; she’s not sure where it lands and he doesn’t seem to care. She pulls the hem of her sweater up next, drawing it up and over her head, letting him help her drag the fabric across her skin. Her bra goes shortly after that, and his hands still in their exploration of the expanse of her back. 

“Pick me up,” she half orders, half begs, and he complies, hooking his arms behind her knees. She wraps her legs around his middle and grinds down, seeking friction in a way that makes his hips stutter. He presses a kiss between her breasts and then drags his teeth across the swell of her flesh.

“Not fair,” she grinds out, tugging at his shirt. But her legs are around him and his fingers are busy kneading patterns into her thighs, so he remains maddeningly clothed. He drops her at the edge of his bed and she realizes with a start that they’ve managed to clear his room without her even noticing; his hands drag down her sides until his fingers hook under her waistband, and he drags her layers of clothing down and off. The cold air against her is a reminder that she’s already slick and wanting and she shudders slightly, a movement that goes unnoticed.

He is, _maddeningly,_ not looking at her directly, instead choosing to sneak glances at her, his face red. 

“I refuse to believe you’ve never seen a naked woman before,” she tells him, sitting up. He looks down at her, eyes wide, face impossibly even _more_ red; she wonders, for a moment, if he’s about to pass out.

“Of course I have,” he tells her hotly, placing a hand against her shoulder to push her back down against his bed. “Just—just not someone who—” he cuts himself off with a shake of his head, whatever he was about to say lost to his thoughts. He looks at her again, almost shyly in a way that has her heart in her throat. But he’s not moving _again_ and it’s her turn to pout, now. 

“Please come here,” she says softly, hooking an ankle around his knee to tug him closer. She sits up and presses a feather-light kiss against his clothed stomach, reaching down to slip a hand underneath his jeans. Her movements are agonizingly slow, even to her, as she unbuttons his jeans and moves her hand against him to find him hot and hard. He shudders as she moves to press another kiss into his chest, but grabs her exploring hand when she swipes her thumb over his head. 

“Wait,” he tells her, pressing her back down into the mattress so he can place a hand against her stomach. She sits up on her elbows and huffs in protest, wanting to complain. The look in his eyes as _he_ looks at _her_ is disarming, calculating in a way she’s never seen from him before. Her movement turns into a shiver, the chill of his room sweeping across her bare skin. 

“Mammon,” she starts to complain, but then he crawls on top of her, his knees pressing into his mattress at the dip in her waist. He silences all further complaints when he runs the pad of his thumb down her slit, slipping in to find her clit a moment later. Her first instinct is to slam her knees shut, to try and drive him in deeper, and she only barely manages to suppress that urge. Still, he notices the way her thighs twitch and gives her a lopsided grin, baring one of his sharp teeth. He slips one finger, and then two, inside of her, curling in a way that has her shuddering and biting down on her lower lip. 

She lets herself flop back onto his bed so that she can use both arms to drag him down to her, to crash her lips into his, making him swallow her little cries as he continues to work his fingers inside of her beautifully. He drives in harder, using his thumb to trace small, solid circles around her clit that only wind her tighter until she’s clenching around him, crying out. He leans down over her so he can press a kiss to her throat, relishing in the way her blood races just under her skin. She throws her arms around his back, pulling him closer, frowning when she’s reminded that he’s still wearing most of his clothes.

“I think you’re overdressed,” she tells him, stubbornly pulling his black shirt up and over his head. He humors her, allowing it to happen, following her down when she tugs him close to her. She takes some of his weight as he kicks out of his jeans, hearing them slide down his legs to land in a pile at the foot of his bed. And then they’re both bare and vulnerable and she tries desperately to ignore the way she thinks that, maybe, she might just be a little bit in love with him. _Not the time_ , she tells herself, swallowing hard as he puts one of his feet back on the floor and drags her down and up so that they’re close enough for her to feel his heat. 

She feels her shoulders press hard into his bed as he pulls her hips up and slides halfway into her in one fluid motion A whine tears from her as she feels muscles stretch that haven’t been stretched in a while, and she fists one hand in his sheets, gripping his forearm hard with the other. 

“You good?” He asks, and she thinks that if he doesn’t move soon, she might have to scream.

“I’m good,” she babbles, tugging gently at his hair to bring his face up to hers, where she peppers little kisses against his cheeks. “You’re good. You’re so good. Please move.” And like she’s spoken an incantation he does, pressing further into her until the base of his cock presses against her clit and she shivers. 

He pulls out and then slams back into her again, and she presses her calf against the hollow of his back, trying to press him in deeper still. He talks, she discovers, a lot. Asking for praise she gives freely, drinking in every moan and gasp and shuddering sigh he can drag from her. 

“So good,” she mumbles into his skin as he covers her, pulling her left leg up so the back of her knee rests against his shoulder. One of her hands rests against the deep vee at his hips, massaging little circles into the muscles there. The other is splayed across his chest, palming a hard nipple because she doesn’t trust her fingers not to tremble. He doesn’t even offer her any of the bravado she’d been half expecting, none of the “ _of course I am, I’m the Great Mammon_ ” mantras he’s usually so given to. 

_And if he won’t say it,_ she decides, _then I will_. 

“You’re so good,” she croons to him. “So nice, so—ah!” he drags her hips up higher, driving into her deeper still, somehow, and hits a spot that has her seeing stars and gasping for breath and uttering an utterly shameful “ _yes!_ ”

He doesn’t give her any time to recover, to reel herself back in before his hands are trailing down her, leaving little firebrand trails of heat where he was so she can track where he goes even when she throws her arm over her eyes, overspent. He presses his face into the crook of her neck and she can feel rather than hear him mumbling things as he slides both of his arms under her back, lifting her so their chests are pressed against each other. She can feel her own heartbeat against his, fluttering like hummingbirds’ wings. 

The rumble that emanates from his chest into hers goes straight to her core, and she clutches him to her like he’s the only thing left in her entire world. Through the haze of her own orgasm she can feel his cock twitch deep within her and he pulls out of her with a lewd noise, releasing over her stomach. He sits back then and watches the way she pants, covered in her own sex flush and his cum like he’s branded her, and commits the image to memory because he’s sure that as soon as she comes to, she’s going to leave. 

When he gets up to retrieve a wet rag, a small part of him is surprised that she’s still there when he returns, just like she’s surprised at the careful, gentle way he wipes her down to clean himself off of her. She almost can’t stand it. Almost tells him to leave her alone before she tips over the edge and can’t come back, but she’s afraid of the fragility of the moment. So she teases the rag from his fingers and urges him to sit back, pressing her forehead against his as she wipes him down. 

Until he reaches out with both hands and holds her to him, crushing them together as if she might evaporate from his arms. He tosses the rag away, telling himself he’ll get it later, once she’s come to her senses and gone. Instead, she only settles into his arms and sighs, and he can feel her eyelashes flutter against his chest when she closes her eyes.

He holds her like he loves her, and Eleanor almost weeps at the feeling, doesn’t want it to end, wants to stay there forever in the sensation. _I should leave before I get too attached_ , she tells herself, knowing already that it’s too late, that she’s made a terrible, terrible gamble and lost awfully. She settles further into his embrace and, not wanting to face him just yet, lets herself drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written anything legitimately smutty in a long, long time, and I feel like it shows.  
> Sorry. ಥ‿ಥ


	35. Chapter 35

She stretches like a cat when she makes her first journey into wakefulness, back twisting into a tight curve until her shoulders press against something firm and warm that is _definitely_ not one of the many pillows littering her bed. Sleep still clouding her mind, she rolls towards the heat source at her side.

“It’s too early,” the person at her side says, pressing her against them. “Humans need their sleep.” _Mammon?_ She thinks as he pulls her close to him; she’s pretty sure he’s still asleep, and wonders how he can be so coherent. _At least he hasn’t kicked me out yet, I guess_. And she’s too warm and comfortable to think about the consequences the morning might bring, so she curls into his embrace and decides that’s a problem for future, awake Eleanor to handle.

The second time she wakes is much less pleasant. She reaches out to find that the space next to her is cold, returned to the ambient temperature of the room. _I don’t know what I expected_ , she thinks, closing her eyes, _except that this is his room and I should have been the one to bounce_. The lights aren’t on and her alarm isn’t blaring, so she’s not certain what, exactly, it is that has forced her back into consciousness. Until she tries to sit up and feels the weight of what she swears is every spare blanket in the House of Lamentation smothering her. 

“What the hell,” she coughs, trying to force air back into her lungs as she struggles the rest of the way up. Covers slide off of her shoulders until she grabs at one of them, wrapping it around her as she scoots to the edge of Mammon’s bed to stand. 

“What is all of this?” She demands, gesturing to his bed and the pile of blankets she’s just rescued herself from. He’s just stepped out of his bathroom, still toweling off his hair, and he’s clearly not expecting her to be awake yet. But he’s grinning like he’s just played a practical joke, and she desperately wants to find a mirror to make sure he hasn’t drawn something on her face.

“You were cold! I gotta take care of my human, don’t I?”

And it’s the expression of contented pride on his face that disarms her the most. Her shoulders slump and she pulls the blanket tighter around her as she looks at him, searching for a lie that she can’t find. 

“... Yeah, I guess,” she says eventually, scanning his room for her things. “... Thanks.” There’s a silence that she thinks is terribly, terribly awkward even though he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. So she ties her hair up to disguise the fact that it needs brushed, badly, and crawls into the clothes she can find. “I need a shower and to… get ready for class.”

“You can use mine,” he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder as if it’s an obvious solution. As if it makes all the sense in the world for him to try and get her to stay. She’s uncomfortable with how comfortable the idea is, that she could stay—that he _wants_ her to stay. _I shouldn’t let this keep going,_ she tells herself, and then shakes her head at him with a smile. 

“I need to go back to my room anyway. My uniform’s there.” She busies herself with folding up the blanket she had draped over herself until not too long ago, fastidiously avoiding eye contact with Mammon so that her willpower doesn’t break. 

She’s done decidedly few walks of shame in her time, and so it’s remarkably easy for her to decide that this is the strangest one. All she has to do is avoid the brothers in the hallway, which isn’t necessarily that difficult of a task; but it’s what’s waiting for her in her room that poses the largest problem because she’s certain her absence has likely been missed. She eases her bedroom door open, half expecting both Satan and Lucifer to be waiting up with a newspaper and a scowl, just for her. 

Instead, she’s treated to the sight of Satan sprawled out on her floor, Lucifer draped artfully over a pile of blankets, and absolute carnage. A stray feather from one of the burst pillows is stuck to Satan’s— _Lucifer’s_ —cheek and she runs her hands through her hair, surveying the damage. None of her personal things have been tampered with, it seems; but the brothers clearly haven’t been able to resist another pillow brawl, and it looks like there isn’t a single one left. She wonders what it was, exactly that set them off, and then decides one of them probably breathed in the direction of the other the wrong way. 

But luck has smiled on her, and so she takes the opportunity to sneak into her bathroom and make herself presentable for the day. Most of the evidence of her night is easy to wash away. But there’s one irrefutable piece of evidence that she can’t wash away, that looks like it might take a little bit of time to heal. She presses a palm against the love bite on her chest, right over her heart. _It’s bad enough it’s_ there, she thinks, letting the warm stream of her shower wash down her back. Worse still that she knows exactly when it happened, when he was rumbling things into her chest she assumed were the demonic equivalents of sweet nothings, when her hands were tangled in his hair and running down his back, when he pushed inside of her and she—

“ _No_ ,” she tells herself forcefully, shaking her head so that her hair flings water everywhere. She turns off the water behind her and rushes to get ready, trying to outrun her own thoughts. And when she decides there’s little use in putting it off anymore, she leaves the (relative) safety of her bathroom, returning to the chaos that is her own bedroom.

“And just where were you last night?” Lucifer asks, and it takes her a moment to remember that it is indeed Lucifer in Satan’s form. 

“Not here stopping this carnage, _clearly_ ,” she says, sweeping her hand around her room. _At least all of my walls are still standing_. But it’s small consolation because she knows she’s most likely going to have to be the one to clean up the mess they’ve made. Her snapped retort silences any further questions he might have and eventually she relents. “Might want to get ready, if you’re going to try and trick Diavolo.”

She uses his obvious disgruntlement to escape, making it all the way to her first class where everything is quiet, at least, because it’s one she shares only with Satan, meaning that it’s Lucifer who is with her. Without any of his brothers around, there’s no reason for any of them to cause a scene. But her respite is brief, and she and Lucifer are quickly joined by Satan and Mammon. Asmodeus, at least, still clearly finds the situation endlessly amusing—and he might be the only one, save Mammon, so she’s surprised he’s not there. Lucifer pulls her aside in the hallway, heedless that his brother can hear him. 

“I think you know this, but I don’t trust those two one bit,” he tells her, looking directly at Mammon and Satan. “Satan and Mammon both think this whole situation is funny, and it’s possible that they might do something outrageous for comical effect.” She nods at his words.

“Maybe,” she agrees tonelessly. 

“Eleanor, I want you to keep an eye on those two. And if it looks like they’re about to try anything they shouldn’t—”

“Hey!” Mammon interjects. “We’re standin’ _right here_ , y’know!” Satan gives all three of them a distasteful scowl, but lingers the longest on Lucifer. 

“He wanted us to hear what he said.” Satan draws his words out, and the disgusted tone he uses doesn’t sit well on Lucifer’s lips. Eleanor is about to step in, to try her best to keep them from fighting in the middle of the RAD hallway, but she’s interrupted. 

“Well, hello there, Lucifer!” Diavolo says, his normal cheerful self. “So, what happened this morning? You always stop by the assembly hall first thing in the morning, but you weren’t there today.” Satan and Lucifer exchange warning glances until finally, Satan steps forward in Lucifer’s body, affecting a cheerful smile and bright tone that Eleanor is _certain_ Lucifer has never actually had a day in his life. 

“Hello, hello, _hello,_ Diavolo! I’m _so_ happy to see you! You’re all I ever think about, honey. I dreamed about you again last night, and then I ended up oversleeping, which is why I wasn't at the assembly hall!”

Eleanor covers her mouth with her fingers, shocked into silence. Lucifer stiffens beside her, and Mammon bursts into peals of delighted laughter. 

“Diavolo,” Satan continues, “is it just me, or do you look tense? Want me to give you a nice shoulder massage? How about your arms? Maybe your legs, too? If you’re feeling tired, you just let me know, okay?”

“Oh no,” Eleanor whispers as she covers her entire face with her hands now, not wanting to witness a murder right in front of her

“... Hey, Eleanor,” Lucifer murmurs at her shoulder, just barely loud enough for her to hear. “I’m not actually like that, am I?” She shakes her head, more because she doesn’t know how to answer than anything else. Diavolo only blinks at everyone in front of him, clearly amused. 

“I don’t feel tense at all—or tired, for that matter. But Satan… What are you doing inside Lucifer’s body?” At Diavolo’s words, Eleanor thinks it might just be safe enough to peek between her fingers. She sneaks a peek at Lucifer, who looks slightly mollified, adn at Satan, who looks disappointed. 

“Now _that_ is impressive,” Mammon says, eyeing the demon prince with respect. _I wonder if his ability to detect lies has anything to do with it?_ Eleanor wonders, narrowing her eyes in consideration.

“And that Satan over there seems moved for some reason. I suppose that means it’s Lucifer on the inside.”

“Diavolo, you can tell it’s me?” Lucifer asks, and Eleanor does a double take at the dropped honorific. 

“Of course I can,” Diavolo replies easily. “We’ve known each other a long time, after all.” Satan swears under his breath, and Lucifer explains what exactly happened when Diavolo prompts him to. Hearing it explained in such matter-of-fact terms doesn’t make it sound any less ridiculous

“It’s good that the effect will wear off in a few days, and you’ll go back to your own bodies. However… Lucifer, I believe you’re scheduled to give a speech to the entire student body some time next week, aren’t you? Is everything going to be okay with that?”

“I completely forgot about the speech,” Lucifer admits, sounding like Diavolo has just ordered his execution. Eleanor feels for him, but wishes he wouldn’t glare so hatefully at Satan. Just like she wishes Satan didn’t look _quite_ so pleased at the turn of events. 

“Ooh, Lucifer’s in a pickle,” Mammon says in a sing-song voice, earning Lucifer’s wrath. Eleanor grabs his wrist before he can attempt to strike him in the middle of the school hallway, giving him a reassuring squeeze. 

“We’ll figure something out,” she tells Diavolo, but what she really means is _I’ll figure something out_ because Mammon is too busy rubbing his brother’s nose in the situation, Satan is too preoccupied with planning his chaos, and Lucifer is far too concerned with stopping the both of them to focus on the speech. Diavolo nods at her and smiles.

“It’s in your hands, then,” he says.

* * *

“Tell me about the speech,” she demands, forcing Lucifer to sit down next to her on the bench in the courtyard. 

“I have to give a report to the full student body on the current state of the exchange program and how all of our exchange students are doing. I’d planned to talk about Diavolo’s plan to achieve harmony between angels, demons, and humans—so call for everyone to understand what he’s trying to accomplish… But if we’re still in each other’s bodies then, Satan will end up having to give the speech as me.” The sneering curl to his lip tells her what he thinks of _that_ idea. “Out of all of my brothers, Satan is the one who is most like me. Normally, I think he’d have no trouble handling a task like this. But this time it’s different. I have no idea what he might do up on a stage like that, with an opportunity to ruin my reputation in front of everyone.” He curls his hands into fists and then relaxes them, only to repeat the movement as if he’s miming throttling someone. 

“Have you just tried _talking_ to him?” Eleanor asks, feeling that the obvious needs to be stated. 

“Are you saying you think Satan would understand where I’m coming from if I spoke with him about this?” He asks, clearly unamused with her naive hope. But then his expression settles into one of grim determination and he nods, as if he’s made up his mind about something in the moment. “But you’re right. I can’t simply decide that there’s no way for us to understand each other. All I have to do is make an honest attempt at reaching common ground.”

“Communication is key,” Eleanor agrees. 

“We should go find him,” Lucifer says, standing and holding a hand out to her. She hasn’t forgotten that the person she’s talking to isn’t Satan, that it’s Lucifer in there. The thought lingers at the back of her mind, but because he doesn’t _look_ like Lucifer at the moment, she finds it much easier to take his hand and allow him to help her stand. Even though she doesn’t need it. 

They search the academy together to no avail, and both eventually agree to go back to the House of Lamentation. Eleanor dearly hopes that he’s there because she doesn’t particularly want to be dragged all around the Devildom after Lucifer’s errant brother. She _especially_ doesn’t want to be dragged all around the Devildom only to have them fight again if Satan has been up to something particularly aggravating. It comes as some surprise, then, to find him in Eleanor’s room, pillows mysteriously put back together, with Leviathan and Beelzebub at his side. 

Leviathan and Satan seem to be in the middle of an impersonation challenge, both taking turns doing their best to sound like Lucifer—a game which Satan is easily winning at, considering he is currently in possession of Lucifer’s vocal cords. Eleanor tries to ignore them as she sits at her table and pulls out her homework; to her surprise Lucifer does the same.

“Eh, I”m tired of hearing you impersonate Lucifer,” Leviathan says after some time, and Eleanor breathes a sigh of relief. Beside her, Lucifer has been growing more and more agitated as they continued, to the point she’s been preparing to duck any wings that might suddenly erupt from his back. 

“Why don’t you try saying something in Lucifer’s voice that the real Lucifer would never say?” Beelzebub suggests, taking Eleanor by surprise. She can’t help it; this makes her turn to look, just in time to see Satan’s sly grin. 

“I’m in love with Ruri-chan! She’s my baby!” And then he lets loose a high-pitched squeal that sends both Leviathan and Beelzebub into paroxysms of laughter. Eleanor ducks her head low and rubs her temples.

“They’re taking advantage of the fact that I’m much less powerful in Satan’s body,” Lucifer sniffs. 

“They are,” Eleanor agrees. “And it’s really not okay.” _If only because you’re going to skin them all alive as soon as you possibly can_ , she adds mentally. He looks at her from the corner of his eyes, still frowning.

“Exactly. Now tell _them_ that,” he says to her. Then he turns to his brothers and raises his voice. “Levi, Beel, what are you two doing in Eleanor’s room?”

“Well, Lucifer—I mean, Satan—said that if I hung out here and made a bunch of noise, he’d give me treats.” Beelzebub waves his bag of crispy bat wings at evidence. 

“Just bored, Levi is! Only reason for being here,” Leviathan adds, in what has to be the most spot-on impression of Yoda Eleanor has ever heard. It’s a little uncanny. 

“Do you have to be so honest, Beel?” Satan snaps, just as Lucifer says “I see. So you’re trying to harass me.” Beelzebub shrugs and pops another wing into his mouth. 

“Actually, the truth is that there’s this new game that just released, and I’m waiting for Akuzon to deliver it,” Leviathan confesses. 

“You know, I noticed that Mammon isn’t here. Weird, isn’t it? He usually camps out in Eleanor’s room all day long.” And then to follow up his words, Beelzebub gives Eleanor a _look_ that makes her go a little pale. She rolls her pen between her fingers and pretends like she hasn’t heard him at all. 

“Beel,” Leviathan warns. “Mention Mammon, you should not.”

“Why not?” Beelzebub asks from around a mouth full of bat wings. Lucifer pins them both with an icy stare, but neither of them seem particularly bothered by it. 

“Iheard that Mammon and Satan hatched a plan to have a party with a bunch of succubi, taking advantage of the fact that Satan is in Lucifer’s body! Lucifer found out their plan. Told them they couldn’t go, Lucifer did. And go in their place, Asmodeus did. Very, very happy, he seemed!”

 _He got over that quick_ , Eleanor thinks as soon as she hears the word “succubi” before she can forcibly remind herself that it doesn’t matter and she doesn’t care because he doesn’t mean anything to her and she doesn’t mean anything to him. _Right_ , she affirms to herself, trying to rub the chill out of her arms. 

“For something that’s supposed to be _secret_ , you certainly don’t seem to mind talking about it so loud that every one of us can hear,” Satan snaps.   
“Mammon is taking advantage of the fact that Lucifer isn’t as powerful as usual to run rampant doing whatever he wants. Like, after class, he went and got the head of the RAD newspaper club and brought him to Satan. Then, Satan pretended to be Lucifer, and said that he’d increase funding for their club next year in exchange for a _bribe!_ ” Leviathan ignores the warning looks and hisses that Satan gives him, far too eager to keep everyone’s attention on himself. Lucifer arranges his work in an orderly pile and clears his throat.

“Beel,” he eventually says, once some of the attention has been pulled away from Leviathan.

“What?” Beelzebub asks, sensing the tension.

“I want you to go and find Mammon and string him up for me. Hang him upside down.” Beelzebub looks conflicted—at least, until Lucifer speaks next. “I’ll give you one hundred dozen Uncle Demon’s donuts as a reward for doing this.”

“Deal,” Beelzebub says, a little too quickly. 

“So, you’re going to hang Mammon upside down, huh?” Satan asks, still smiling smugly at his older brother. Then what about me? I know you _want_ to punish me, but surely you can’t hang your own body upside down, now can you, Lucifer?” _I wouldn’t test that_ , Eleanor wants to tell him, wanting to remind him that they’ll switch back eventually.

“Don’t be so smug, Satan,” Lucifer says slowly, as if not bothered at all by his brother’s words. But sitting as closely as she is to him, Eleanor can see the muscle in his cheek jump.

“I’m _Lucifer_ , not Satan. And you really should be more respectful toward your older brother, you know?”

“... Is it just me, or are things even worse between those two now that they’ve switched bodies?” Beelzebub asks, still in Eleanor’s room. Leviathan agrees. Eleanor puts her head down on her table, wondering if she can beg Luke to let her stay in Purgatory Hall for the next week.

* * *

They snipe at each other for the rest of the evening at the slightest provocation, until even Leviathan and Asmodeus’s amusement has been sapped. Eleanor retreats to her room for whatever peace and quiet she can find but they follow her there, so she retreats further to her bathroom, slamming her door behind her. But she can _still_ hear them bickering like small children, and so she gives up and throws open her bathroom door.

“I’m tired,” she snaps at them, hoping to get them _both_ to be quiet. She doesn’t care if she has to sleep in her wardrobe if she has to stay in her own room; she just wants them to _shut up_.

“I’m the oldest,” Satan declares. “So naturally, I get to use the bed.” Eleanor wants very much to point out that this is meant to be _her room_ and _her bed_ , but doubts that either one of them would actually hear her. 

“Wrong. I’m Lucifer, not you. So, I’ll be using the bed, of course. You can sleep on the floor.”

“I’m taking the bed,” Satan shoots back.

“No you’re not. _I_ am,” Lucifer declares. Eleanor groans a little, low in her throat to express her frustration. They both turn to look at her and she glares at them in turn, slipping on shoes and heading for her door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Satan snaps, sounding so much like Lucifer she has to stare hard at him to make sure they haven’t managed to switch back somehow. 

“I don’t know. Away. You’re both being insufferable.” This, at least, makes them both fall into silence, even if it’s for far longer than Eleanor would have liked. “Just share the bed. It isn’t that big of a deal.”

Satan visibly balks at the idea, but the expression fits well on Lucifer’s face.

“”If you leave, we’ll probably destroy everything again,” he warns, and Eleanor crosses her arms at the statement. _Exactly like toddlers_ , she affirms to herself—not that she’d ever verbalize the thought, not unless she developed a death wish. 

“As much as I hate to admit it, that outcome seems… Likely,” Lucifer admits. “You should stay here.” She snorts at his words and gestures to his room.

“And sleep where? Since you’re sharing the bed.” The expressions they both shoot her tell her she needs to stop goading them _now_ , but it’s too late.

“I’m not sharing the bed with _him_ ,” they both protest at the same time. Eleanor raises an eyebrow at both of them, hoping they’ve noticed their synchronicity. But it truly seems they haven’t because Satan’s eyes light up with what is a terrible, awful plan. For Eleanor, at least. 

“Perhaps we _could_ share the bed,” Satan starts, smiling at her in a way that makes her blood run cold. “Providing there’s a buffer between us. What do you say? It isn’t that big of a deal, right Eleanor?”

“For fuck’s sake,” she hisses, and then Satan smiles at her in a way that tells her he thinks he’s won. She sets her jaw in defiance and gestures to the bed. “After you,” she challenges. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> play stupid games, win stupid prizes, Eleanor.


	36. Dogi Maji Memorium

She can’t sleep. She knows she shouldn’t be surprised by this fact, but that doesn’t stop her from being irritated or wanting to smother the demons on either side of her. They’re both muttering things in their sleep, which is… somewhere between cute and irritating, if she’s being honest. Lucifer swears vengeance on Satan, while Satan… She squints at him as he mumbles more. _Is he… role playing?_ She thinks. She’s almost completely certain she’s just heard him refer to himself as Lucifer. 

_I’ll never be able to sleep like this_ , she thinks, and crawls down the foot of her bed so she doesn’t disturb her temporary bedmates. Not that she _thinks_ they’d force her to stay, but… She doesn’t want to test that, either. _Maybe some hot cocoa would be nice,_ she muses, and almost steps into the kitchen before she hears the first sniffles. 

“... Hello?” She calls out softly into the darkness. None of the lights adjust for her, so she walks through the hallways by memory until the crying grows louder. One of the sprites—she can feel it but not see it in the darkness—hovers near her right ear.   
“Would you mind lighting a candle, please?” She asks it, and a moment later a little light flickers into existence. She murmurs a thank you and holds the candle aloft, high over her head as she walks towards the staircase to the second floor. It doesn’t offer much light, but at least she can see a few feet in front of her. 

“... Mammon?” She asks, squinting up into the darkness. She’s sure it’s him because it can’t be anyone else—not after Lucifer ordered Beelzebub to tie him up. _Guess he actually went and did it_. 

“Eleanor!” Mammon says with an excited, loud whisper. “P-please, you gotta help me! Lucifer made Beel string me up and hang me upside down!”

“You’re not upside down,” she points out, staring up at him. The sprite tugs at her shirt sleeve, trying to pull her back in the direction of her room.

“Beel agreed to at least hang me rightside up in exchange for some gum.” It sounds so ridiculous that it has to be true, and Eleanor rubs the side of her face. “He’s too damn strong. These ropes are so tight that I can’ tmanage to break free no matter how hard I try. Please! You gotta help me!” His plea descends into a whine at the end and Eleanor sighs, already knowing she will. 

“Fine.”

“Eleanor! You’re the best!” He tells her, and she lets herself believe he means it for a moment before she continues. 

“But on _one_ condition.” She holds up a single finger, not sure if he can even properly see her in the gloom.

“Whatever you want,” he promises. I’m listenin’, just say it!”

“Help me get Lucifer and Satan to make up. They’re driving me nuts.” Mammon scoffs at her request.

“Make up? Listen, those two have been at each other’s throats ever since Satan was born, you know?”

“I _don’t_ know,” she interjects, tapping her foot on the ground in irritation. He continues as if she hasn’t spoken. 

“I mean, I guess you could say it’s only Satan that hates Lucifer, but… Lucifer doesn’t exactly give a shit about how Satan feels, which makes Satan even angrier, so—”

Eleanor turns and walks away, taking her paltry light and any chance of Mammon’s rescue with her. 

“Wait! Don’t leave! Fine, fine! I’ll do it, I’ll help you, I promise! Just get me down from here!”

She sighs and climbs the staircase beside him until she can reach through the stair railing to the rope. It takes much longer than she’d have liked, and the rough fibers scratch against her still-healing fingertips, but she eventually loosens his bindings enough for him to slip through. He drops down the meter or two and lands on his feet, waiting until she descends the stairs to lift her into a hug and spin her around. Not prepared for his exuberance or the way her hands are crushed to her side, she drops everything in her hands. 

“Aah! My candle!” She says as it clatters to the floor, flame dying in the fall and leaving her without any ability to see at all. When he releases her she takes a few steps back and pouts at him—or at least, in his general direction. Without any light to illuminate her surroundings, she’s not sure where he is anymore. 

“Excellent,” he says, brushing himself off. “Feet back on the floor where they belong!”

“Mammon,” she snaps as a warning. 

“All right, _all right_ , I know. It ain’t like I forgot my promise.” He pauses for a moment, considering just how to force his brothers to make up. He taps his fingers against his chin as if deep in thought. “I’ve got an _amazing_ idea! I think I’m a genius!” He finally exclaims, and Eleanor feels the first inklings of trepidation. He hauls her off to Leviathan’s room, and she’s not at all surprised to find that he’s still awake, playing one game or another. He’s irritated at the intrusion, glaring daggers at both of them as he pauses his game. 

“What do you want?” He asks, and Eleanor shrugs while Mammon ignores him completely, instead rifling through the pile of boxes carefully arranged by Leviathan’s desk. 

“Ta-dah! Check it out!” Mammon says, brandishing one of the boxes. It’s still taped shut, clearly unopened. “ _Dogi Maji Memorium!_ So, here’s the deal: in this game, anyone who registers to play it is actually pulled into the game world for real,” Mammon explains, keeping the game just out of Leviathan’s reach.

“Mammon, get your dirty hands _off_ my game! That _just_ arrived from Akuzon and it’s still new and pristine!”

“We need to play it to force Satan and Lucifer to make up!” Mammon explains, baffling his brother with what seems like a non sequitur. Leviathan’s eyebrows furrow as he’s finally able to snatch the game from his brother’s hands and hold it tight to himself. 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Pfft, it’s obvious. If I register them in the game client, then they’ll be pulled inside the game world, right? Since this is Satan and Lucifer we’re talkin’ about, at first they’ll be moanin’ and groanin’ about it, _but_ ,” he holds up a finger, silencing Leviathan’s growing protestations. “You’ve gotta win the game before you can leave, which means they’ll have to work together toward a common goal! It’ll force ‘em to bond, ya see?”

“You think it’ll go that well?” Leviathan asks doubtfully, but otherwise not outright rejecting the idea as completely as Eleanor thought he might. Mammon pops the disk into Leviathan’s tower and boots the game up, and Leviathan makes no move to stop. 

“Don’t know if we don’t try! Now… how does this work?” Mammon clicks ineffectively at the title screen of the game until Leviathan boots him from the chair and takes over the process entirely. He looks a little too excited, and Eleanor wonders if that’s a good thing or not. 

“Ugh, _fine_ , you’ll never figure it out on your own.” Leviathan types a few things in, muttering to himself as he does so. Lucifer and Satan are entered in short order while he mutters to himself about how excited he’s been to play it. “So I’m not missing out,” he says, finally speaking to the two others in his room. “I’ll enter my name here… And I’ll just add Eleanor as well. There. Registered an all set,” he says happily after a few more clicks and phrases typed in. She wonders if whatever magic makes the game work will even work on her, considering her relative invulnerability to Asmodeus and Lucifer’s powers.

“Woah, what? Are you really gonna play too, Eleanor?” The protest, unsurprisingly, comes from Mammon, who stands nervously behind her shoulder.

“I don’t see why not,” she says with a shrug. “Didn’t think we’d be doing it right this second, but again: why not?”

“Recognize the greatness of _Doji Maji_ you clearly do. Impressed, I am!” Leviathan’s finger hovers over the “game start” button but he pauses, and Eleanor wonders what he’s waiting for. 

“Well, if she’s playin’ then I am too! Add me, Levi!” Mammon demands with a push against his brother’s shoulders. Eleanor listens to them bicker and wonders if she was ever like this with any of her own siblings. _Barring the magical game… Maybe_ , she concedes to herself. Eventually, Mammon is entered under a name he hates and Leviathan starts the game before he can be made to change it. 

A flash of bright, blinding white envelops them. She feels weightless for a second, as if she’s just been pushed off a high ledge—but then she feels her feet back on the ground and warmth across her skin. When she cracks an eye open, her face tilted towards the sky, she’s pleased to see the sun. 

“Woah,” she breathes, closing her eyes and soaking up the ambient warmth provided. 

“I thought this was supposed to be an RPG! Aren’t games like this supposed to start in some village, or a castle, or out on a giant grassy plain or somethin’? Why’re we in some weird school?” Mammon’s complaints make her open her eyes and actually look around her to see that he’s correct. They’re in some sort of school, except it looks nothing like the Academy. 

“Not necessarily. I mean, _Doji Maji_ is a school dating sim, after all. One character is designated as the heroine, and you’ve got to work hard to increase your favorability score with her higher and higher. In the end, you go up on the Roof of Legend and profess your love to her. And if she accepts you, you win! And _supposedly_ , if you admit you love someone up there on graduation day and become an official couple, then you’ll live happily ever after together.” Leviathan explains the goal of the game, looking incredibly pleased with himself. 

_It almost sounds like he’s already played this_ , Eleanor thinks, narrowing her eyes at him. But she’s not given too much time to mull on that because Lucifer and Satan have appeared, and they both look like they’re ready to murder something. She ducks behind Leviathan and Mammon, just in case.

“So _you’re_ the ones behind this,” Lucifer’s body says, glaring at all three of them in such a Luciferian way that she’s hopeful they’ve managed to, somehow, already switch back. 

“... Satan?” She asks, just in case. 

“No.” Eleanor tries to take the hateful way he says it as a good sign. _At least he’s back in his own body… Right?_ The other students milling around don’t seem to notice at all how malice rolls off of him and Satan, almost as if they can’t even notice it. She glances around at them. _Most of them look just about the same. Creepy_. 

Leviathan explains the situation to Lucifer and Satan, who both look like they’d prefer death to playing a dating sim game. Eleanor can’t really blame them too much; it doesn’t strike her as a genre of game they’d particularly enjoy. 

“Okay, Levi. Point us in the direction of this heroine and we’ll get this show on the road,” she says, cracking her knuckles for effect. Nobody in particular sticks out like they’re the main focal point of the game, but she supposes that the heroine might not be introduced right away. 

“Oh!” Leviathan says brightly. “I designated _you_ as the heroine!”

Eleanor’s heart almost stops. 

“Why would you do that?” She hisses at him, face pale with dread. “Do you think I’ve never flirted with another girl before?!” She stamps her foot on the ground ineffectually; aside from a slight pink tinge to Leviathan’s face, he seems not to have heard her words at all.

“So, everyone! Raise your intimacy score with Eleanor, you must! And achieve the happy ending!” Leviathan claps his hands once as if that’s settled the matter.

“I'm not giving _any of you_ a happy ending,” she mutters darkly, but is mostly drowned out by Mammon’s howls.

“No! No, no, no, no! Why’d you do that?” And _this_ time, Leviathan seems to have heard the question because he shrugs. His face is still pink when he answers.

“Just thought it’d be fun. I dunno,” he admits, and Eleanor buries her face in her hands, missing the way Lucifer and Satan glare at each other and then turn to look at her as if she’s a piece of meat and they’re hungry wolves.

“Ooooh, no, no,” Mammon says, shaking his head and holding his hands out in front of him. “I know what you’re thinkin’, and you’re right. Sorry, you two. I apologize for Levi here. I mean, this is ridiculous and crazy, right? No way you two want anything to do with this stupid plan or Eleanor, right?”

“Hey!” Eleanor protests, unburying her face to glare at Mammon’s back. She knows she _should_ agree with him because the whole plan, with her being the heroine, is absolutely ludicrous. _But he didn’t have to phrase it like_ that _,_ she thinks, bitter.

“So you just leave things to Mammon! I”ll take care of everything! I’ll raise my score with Eleanor lickety-split, profess my love on graduation day, and win this game before you even know what hit you!” He wraps an arm around Eleanor’s shoulder and she looks out into the sea of game characters for help. “So you guys don’t have to do a thing! Nope, nothin’ at all! So just… y’know. Hang out and do whatever.”

But neither Satan nor Lucifer look as if they’ve heard a word their brother has said, both back to glaring at each other. 

“You know what this means, right, Lucifer? It’s a _competition_ , to see which of us can get the happy ending. You or me.”

“That goes without saying. And I highly doubt I’d lose to the likes of you, Satan,” Lucifer responds coolly. 

“L O L,” Leviathan spells out. “You guys are hilarious. Aren’t you forgetting about someone? You really think you can beat _me?_ ” Eleanor’s attention snaps to Leviathan because as much as she wasn't expecting Lucifer and Satan to care about the game, she wasn’t expecting Leviathan to care to _win_ it, not with her as a dubious prize. 

“Oi! Why do you all wanna win so badly all of a sudden, huh?” Mammon’s thoughts, at least in this, mirror her own. She steps away from all of them and crosses her arms with a firm nod.

“I’m _not_ going to lose to _him_ ,” Satan and Lucifer say at the same time, mirroring each other again. 

“And I just want to win the game, I guess? And maintain my absolutely perfect run percentage. It’s my game, after all, and I’m not about to let someone _else_ experience the very best part of it in my place,” Leviathan says with a shrug. Eleanor throws her hands into the air because of course, _of course_ , she’s nothing but a means to an end for the demons. Again. 

“Damn it,” Mammon growls, spinning to Eleanor so he can take her hands in his. “Listen up. I’m gonna tell you I love you and you’re gonna choose _me,_ okay? It’s gonna happen!”

 _Sure wish you meant that, bud_ , she thinks, her chest feeling far too tight. 

“Eleanor is _my_ princess!” Leviathan declares, striking a pose that she _knows_ he’s emulating from a romance anime because she’s watched it with him before. Not to be outdone, Satan rounds on her next, bumping Mammon out of the way. 

“Eleanor,” he purrs at her. “I’m not going to make you fall for me,” He says, and she has a moment to think _well, this is a refreshing change of pace_ before he ruins her illusion and continues. “No… You’re going to fall for me naturally, as a matter of course.”

She grits her teeth.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lucifer butts in, sounds as if the whole thing is utterly beneath him. “We all know Eleanor is going to choose me. Isn’t that right? Prepare yourself,” he orders her, leveling her with an expression that makes her toes curl in her stupid game-issued loafers.

She wants to flee.

Her savior comes in the form of a bubbly, but ultimately nondescript girl who hooks her arm around Eleanor’s waist and tugs her away from the demons. Eleanor blinks down at her, surprised but not upset.

“Come on, best friend!” The girl says, her voice high and squeaky, adopting a sing-song tone the longer she speaks. “Ami is here to make sure you’re not late to class on the very first day of the semester!”

“Th-thank you?” Eleanor phrases it like a question and looks harder at Ami. She’s definitely a game creation; they all have the same, somewhat-blank facial expression that is more unnerving the longer Eleanor thinks about it. And the more Ami speaks, the more certain Eleanor is that she’s something of a tutorial section. She repeats the same things Levi’s already explained about the roof and graduation day, but also that _certain students_ have the ability to see love in a person’s aura. _Fuck. Does she mean the intimacy scores for player characters?_ She wonders if the demons saw hers already and wants to go and dig a hole to bury herself in. 

“Now, pick a club!” Ami says, pushing leaflets into Eleanor’s arms. “Everyone has to have an after school activity! I’ll select whatever you do because we’re friends!”

Ami’s unending cheer is starting to grate on Eleanor just the slightest bit, mostly because it feels—and is—incredibly fake. But she looks down at the pieces of paper in her hands and is able to throw some of them out right away. _There’s no way I’m going to join anything gym-related_ , she thinks, furrowing her brow. She’s fully aware that some of Levi’s games have additional fan service which borders on lewd, and she doesn’t want to be caught in a situation like that. Art is out as well, as soon as she sees the option for figure drawing listed. Then the leaflet at the very bottom of the stack catches her eye and she holds it up for closer examination.

“Drama club seems safe,” she says to herself, her decision made. _And maybe I just just help out with the costumes. I can do that easily enough._

“Sounds perfect! Now, here’s your schedule, and your textbooks, and your class roster!” Ami exclaims, piling everything into Eleanor’s hands. “Don’t forget that if you start to slip in a subject, someone will have to tutor you!”

“Fuck,” Eleanor whimpers. 


	37. Intimacy up

Eleanor discovers very quickly that she is very rarely allowed to be alone in the game world—which isn’t, when she considers it, all that much different from her time in the Devildom. Ami, in a quirk of game mechanics, is shuffled out of the drama club when Leviathan joins. Eleanor is surprised to see him amble in on the first day. She’s even more surprised to find out that he’s actually signed up for the club, rather than using the room to kill time between the game jumps.

“There is an anime club,” she points out, curious that he wouldn’t have just joined that one. He takes her curiosity in stride and shrugs at her. Even though she doubts he’s super enthused about the subject matter, she’s still pleased that an actual, living person she  _ knows _ is there.

“You’re  _ here _ , though. And it’s basically cosplay, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” she agrees, sliding the folder over to Leviathan. It’s full of patterns for costumes she doesn’t particularly want to choose from. “I think selecting one of these is going to lock us into a play. Have any opinions?” He takes the folder and shuffles through the pages, finally settling on the last one Eleanor thought he’d have chosen. It’s a collection of costumes clearly inspired by some sort of fairy tale. With only the elaborate gown and ornate doublet to go off of, she can’t place it.

“Didn’t think you’d be into the prince and princess thing,” she teases lightly, pinning the costume sheet on the cork board against the far wall. None of the NPCs will complain, she’s sure, if only because they haven’t been scripted to. 

“Of course I am. After all, you’re my princess,” he says, so sure in his own confidence that she forgets for a moment to breathe.

“... Oh,” she eventually says, pausing again to clear her throat. “I, um… I’m not the lead, though.”  _ Since when are you good at flirting? _ She wants to ask him, but settles instead for tucking her hair behind her ears. 

“You probably will be. You’re the heroine, after all; that’s just how games like these go.” He says it casually enough that Eleanor almost doesn’t react to his words at all.

“Aaah, that’s not fair! Levi, if I’m going to have to be one of the two leads, then you have to be the other!” She tells him with a pout. She’s  _ expecting _ him to say something along the lines of ‘I’ll help you to avoid that terrible fate’ but instead, he gives her a smile that would be much more at home on Asmodeus’s face and says “of course I’ll be your prince.”

She gapes at him.

“I. Um…” She clears her throat and ducks her head down so he can’t see the faint blush on her face, a stark reversal of their usual dynamic. “Thanks.” The other play options are set aside, quickly disappearing now that their routes have been closed off, and she and Leviathan both listen politely to the club president explain how things will be working. Despite her best efforts, Eleanor feels her attention slipping, unable to pay attention to what is clearly—to her at least—a tutorial. 

And that is, perhaps, one of the last few quiet moments she has. She’s not prepared for the way time skips in the game are handled, and so when she’s deposited back at the school’s front gates right at the end of the club meeting, she screams. The only thing that saves what tatters of her pride she has left is that most of the other demons look at least somewhat taken aback, with the exception of Leviathan. He seems just as coolly unaffected as ever in the game world, even when Eleanor realizes she has her hands wrapped around Leviathan’s upper arms. 

“Oi!” Mammon complains as soon as he sees it, brows furrowed in consternation. “What’s this about?” Eleanor drops Leviathan’s arm, blinking up at the morning sun. 

“What… was that?”

“Time skip,” Leviathan explains. “A game forcing you to live through  _ every _ moment would be  _ totally _ boring.” And as much as she agrees with him, Eleanor wishes he’d have given her a warning before it happened. Her school bag, slung over her shoulder once more, has been rearranged to prepare her for the day ahead. Her uniform tie—which she’d loosened towards the end of the previous day—is once again tight against her neck. 

“... Right,” Lucifer says, looking not at all amused. “Eleanor, would you walk to class with me?” She has no reason to say no.  _ Especially _ , she thinks when she considers his request _ , when he’s actually, genuinely smiling for once _ .

“Sure,” she agrees, wary that if she doesn’t select one of the boys, Ami will show up and force her hand. She’s not in the mood to discover which one of the demons the game has decided either needs the boost or already has a high score with her. He loops her arm through his and they walk to class together, the other three demons trailing behind them. 

Class moves by in what feels to Eleanor like triple speed; they don’t spend any more than a few minutes on each topic, which Eleanor is grateful for. But it becomes something of a problem when Leviathan gives up and starts playing a phone game and Mammon very visibly falls asleep in the middle of the abbreviated lecture. Satan and Lucifer at least  _ pretend _ to pay attention, but she can see they’re not taking any notes or heeding their instructor at all. 

“Now, class,” the instructor says, standing tall at the front of the class. “What type of dependent clause describes a noun in the sentence?” She scans the classroom for a victim and her eyes settle on Mammon, who is snoring lightly into his blank notebook.

“You,” the instructor says, pointing directly at Mammon, and Eleanor kicks the back of his chair and he stands up, looking more confused than he normally does when called upon in class at the Academy. He clears his throat and looks around the room, searching for some sort of help that none of the game-generated students are willing to give. 

“Adjectival clause,” Eleanor hisses to the back of his head, just loud enough for him to hear.    
“Adjectival clause,” he repeats for their instructor.

“... Correct,” the instructor says, sounding surprised but pleased. “Were you listening to my lecture in your sleep? Well, you’re a demon of many talents, I see; very well, you may sit back down.” Mammon drops down into his seat again, leaning back in relief. 

“That was close,” he says with a jaw-cracking yawn as he turns around to grin at her.  _ Stop doing stupid little fluttery things _ , she orders her heart, which does not at all comply. “I only survived because of you!” He leans further over the back of the chair and she thinks that he might actually just reach over and kiss her, right there in the middle of class. And to her horror, she can’t tell if she’s more excited or irritated by the notion.

“What… Did seein’ that look on my face just now make you happy? Well, in that case, then look all you want! And…” he pauses and his expression goes soft, some of the cocky self-assurance dropping from his demeanor. “Just so you know, you’re the only person I’d ever say that to, understand?”

Although the tips of his ears are pink, he still leans in and presses a quick kiss to her forehead, turning quickly to hunch down over his pointless school work.  _ Stop, stop, stop, stop _ , she tells herself, willing her heart to work at a more even rate as she leans over and presses her too-hot face against her cool desk.

“Hey! No fair!” Leviathan groans, watching the exchange. “No putting the moves on Eleanor in class!”

“Isn’t that the entire point of the game?” Satan asks and Eleanor almost stops breathing because even though she knows, logically—and  _ has _ known—that the entire  _ point _ of the cursed game is to be as ridiculously, heart-stoppingly romantic as possible, she hasn’t let herself absorb that fact until this moment. Because it’s going to be directed at  _ her _ , and she realizes with a sinking feeling that she’s going to fall for it.

_ Oh no _ , she groans internally, curling her hands into fists over her knees. So when the bell rings and dismisses them, she does the only thing she can think of to do: she runs.

But the game, because she has been designated as the heroine, does not allow her to remain solo for long. She knows it’s coming

“Hiding in the library?” Satan asks, taking the seat at the table next to her. She nods and points to one of the textbooks she has set up.

“No matter where you are, libraries are always the same. And apparently if our grades slip in the game, there’s actually some sort of repercussion,” she says. “I don’t particularly want to find out what it is.”

“Hmm,” he agrees, cracking open one of the books nearby. It’s not one of the assigned textbooks, she can tell that by the size alone, but he keeps the title carefully angled away from her. The schoolwork isn’t difficult, and there certainly isn’t a  _ lot _ of it, but she’s still miffed that she has to do it at all. 

“Do you like poetry?” He asks after some time, and Eleanor looks up at him, putting her pencil down. The way his gaze is focused on her is almost a little unnerving, but she doesn’t look away from him. 

“Sometimes,” she admits, and he flips a few more pages in his small volume before settling down on a page. 

“She walks in beauty,” Satan starts, reading from the page, and Eleanor cuts him off with a snort and a wave of her hand. Satan looks relieved that he doesn’t have to continue the poem, and Eleanor can’t decide if she should be offended by that or not. 

“Lord Byron was a known philanderer, and that poem  _ might _ have been written about his cousin’s wife,” she tells him with a laugh. “Not exactly the most… Romantic of choices, I think.” He just blinks at her in a way she can’t read, and she immediately feels bad about her quick dismissal.  _ He’s trying _ , she tells herself.  _ The least I could do is  _ let _ him try, since I had a hand in getting him here. And we’re stuck here if I don’t. _

“Okay, um… Sorry, that wasn’t nice of me.” She resists running her hands through her hair, only to wind up drumming her nerves out on the table with her fingertips. “Look, I know that you don’t like this, and you don’t want to hear this, and I’m  _ sorry _ for that—I didn’t know this game was a dating sim. But if you’re going to try and romance someone, you’ve got to  _ mean _ it. Poetry and things are nice, but… not if they’re meaningless.” And to lighten the mood, she looks at him out of the corner of her eye, a small grin on her face. “Just do whatever you did to that poor witch.”

He scowls at her, which she thinks might actually be exactly what he did to the witch, and snaps his book of poetry shut. But he remembers himself shortly after and smooths his disgruntled expression into a calm smile. She wonders if she’s done damage to their relationship—whatever it is—with the reminder of the witch.  _ “We’re friends, right?” _ she remembers asking him, and he looked at her strangely then; his expression is similar now, but a little harder. A little more focused.

“Understood,” he says smoothly. Eleanor stands and shoves her things into her bag, but when she reaches for the stack of papers. Satan places a hand on the topmost sheet, preventing her from picking it up; she looks up at him and raises an eyebrow, asking a question without opening her mouth.

“Let me carry half of this,” he demands, and Eleanor withdraws a little with a nod. He takes more than half, though which she notices.    
“Thank you.”

“Eh, it’s nothing. I’m only carrying some stuff for you,” he demurs, and Eleanor almost teases him by telling Satan that he sounds like Mammon. His faint blush doesn’t help the matter either, and Eleanor tells herself that it’s because he’s embarrassed. “Look, it’s all well and good to work hard and push yourself, but every once in a while, you should… call on me to help you. But make sure that you ask  _ me _ .” 

She follows him away from the table and through the stacks to the front of the library; she almost walks right into his back when he pauses, his footsteps falling silent against the wooden floor. Before she can stumble too badly and drop all of her things, though, he manages to catch her.

_ You did that on purpose _ , she wants to accuse with a pout, but she holds her tongue instead. She isn’t hurt, after all.  _ And it’s part of the genre of the game, I guess _ , she admits.  _ But that doesn’t mean I have to  _ like  _ it. _

“ _ Please _ ask for help, in the future. Instead of brewing poisons or throwing yourself into demon pacts.” These words are ones that she thinks aren’t prompted solely by the same, so she feels safe taking them to heart. 

“Promise,” she says, shifting everything in her arms to offer him her pinky finger. “ _ Pinky _ promise, even,” she says when he just looks at her like he’s not quite sure what to do. When he continues to not move, she wiggles the finger. “Give me your pinky,” she whispers to him, smiling when he finally moves and offers her his hand. She wraps her pinky around his and pulls their hands together. 

“That is childish,” he informs her, but his laugh tells her he’s not irritated with her antics. 

* * *

Although none of them ever seem to get actually hungry—an unexpected consequence of living inside a game world, apparently—Leviathan still saw fit to bring them lunch. More specifically, only himself and Eleanor; Mammon’s attempt at pilfering it is reprimanded harshly and results in Leviathan and Eleanor sitting out on the grass in the courtyard. 

“Ta-daaah! It’s a special homemade bento box lunch, courtesy of Leviachan!” He says pulling the box out from behind his back.  _ When did you have time to do this? _ Eleanor almost asks, her eyes going wide at the intricate details he’s managed to create completely out of food.  _ And does Beel know you can do this? _

“So, what do you think? Pretty great, huh? It’s Ruri-chan themed; and what’s more, I used a super-extravagant three-layer bento box!” He cracks it open and holds it out to her for her to see. “But it’s more than just pretty! I”m confident that you’ll think it tastes amazing, too. In fact… let me feed it to you. Here you go. Open wide!” He plucks something from the box and presses it to her lips, but she’s too busy staring at him, wondering where his boldness comes from to notice what it is. 

“Was it good? Of course it was, wasn’t it?” He says before she can even answer him, although she agrees. “Next you should try the fried shrimp. Cast a magic love charm on it, I will—just for you, Eleanor, because you’re special!” He brandishes his chopsticks like together they make an actual magic wand. 

“You’re too cute,” she tells him, even though  _ cute _ isn’t quite the word she’s looking for.  _ Adorable… Sweet, maybe? _ She considers before deciding they don’t quite do the job either. 

“And  _ you’re _ my lady,” he tells her matter-of-factly, reaching out to swipe a thumb of her cheek. Despite the fact that she  _ knows _ it’s because of the game, that she’s  _ certain _ he’d never do something like that outside of the game, she still sucks in a gasp of air and he looks down at her lips. 

_ Go ahead, _ she wants to tell him because the past few game days have been nothing but teasing, torturous glimpses at what-maybe-could-be and she’s certain that she’s going at least a little insane.  _ Maybe more than a little _ , she concedes to herself as she reaches out for him.  _ Because this is going to hurt like hell when we go back _ .

She kisses him anyway. 

His lips are soft and not as nearly confident as his words, but he presses a palm softly against her cheek with an almost practiced ease. He’s not demanding, doesn’t push any further to deepen the kiss, and she doesn’t either because she doesn’t want to press her luck, doesn’t want to force him into anything he doesn’t want. She’s half afraid she already has as it is. 


	38. Kabedon

Thanks to the nature of the game, weeks pass in what feels like could only realistically be a few hours and Eleanor feels like she’s staring down the barrel of a gun when graduation decorations start going up. She’s glad, truly, to be at the end of the game, to escape the way they’re all so maddeningly  _ flirty _ with her the way she  _ has _ to let down her faltering barriers or else be stuck in the game forever. Which would be…

_ Awful _ , she reminds herself,  _ just because they’re all good actors doesn’t mean they actually  _ mean _ anything.  _

It’s painfully easy to get up to her old tricks and find a lock to pick. She wonders why that’s even been programmed into the game but doesn’t complain because now, at least, she had a respite from everybody’s attention. Not even Ami can reliably find her, which Eleanor is  _ especially _ grateful for; the assigned friend has a homing beacon on the human to ensure she doesn’t stray  _ too _ far from the bounds of what the game will allow. 

_ At least Levi helped me escape the lead role of the play _ , she thinks, leaning into the stack of pillows she’s dragged into her makeshift lair. Napping is allowed in the game, one of the small mercies the developers have left in, and Eleanor takes every opportunity she can to abuse it; it helps the time pass faster which she counts as a good thing, but also brings her closer to the end of the game and the final confrontation, which she counts as a  _ terrible _ thing. She’s toying with the idea of just hunkering down in her hiding place for the next few days until she’s dragged out.

And then the door opens. Slowly at first, so Eleanor holds her breath hoping that it’s a mistake, that someone hasn’t found her, that the light spilling into the dark closet isn’t an omen. But then it opens all the way and  _ stays _ that way, and she forces herself to sit up and face whatever has come for her.

“Lucifer?” She’s half certain that he’s a hallucination because even  _ he _ seems a little surprised to be there, like he’s not quite sure why he’s opening random doors in the school. His gaze lands on her and he looks at her like he’s won some sort of prize.

“Do you mind if I join you?” He asks, and she’s not sure she’s heard him correctly but she nods her head anyway. The door closes behind him as he steps into the tiny room, around the detritus of unused desks and chairs, flicking on the light behind him so they’re not both trapped in the darkness. 

“I was wondering where you’d gotten to,” he says, flicking his fingers in the air, indicating to her that she needs to move over. She does, leaving enough room for him and a healthy barrier of space to go between them. 

“Just here,” she tells him, and then frowns. “Do you typically go looking for errant humans in storage closets?” It’s not a particularly  _ inspired _ hiding palace, she knows, but she’d been somewhat proud of it because of how rare they were to begin with. Still… She remembers the brief moment of his surprise when he’d first opened the door.

“Only when they’ve already told me they like to break into them,” he tells her, and she stifles a laugh. He stretches out beside her and closes his eyes.

“You remembered that?” She assumed he’d probably filed it with all of the other useless information he’s collected over the years—that is, elected to forget it completely. “You just wanted a nap, didn’t you? Not that I blame you,” she tells him playfully. After all, she’d just been trying to do the same thing, abbreviated literature class be damned. 

“You think it’s odd I’d skip class and come here to take a nap?” He cracks a single eye open to look at her, and she wonders why he’d bothered to leave the light on if he was just going to try and sleep anyway. “There’s no Diavolo here in this world. I can do whatever I want without worrying about being a disgrace to him in any way. …It’s a real weight off my shoulders.”

“Yeah, I get that. Don’t worry, I’m not about to spill your secret.” 

He closes his eye again and settles in beside her, and she decides to do the same thing, closing her eyes against the light. Most of the tension he carries around with him has left, she notes with interest.  _ Maybe I can talk Diavolo into sending him on vacation _ , she thinks to herself and she curls onto her side, not liking her chances in the slightest.  _ Not that he’s likely to even deign to go if Diavolo agrees.  _

She’s about to let herself slip back into sleep, sure that he’s already succumbed to it himself when he speaks again.

“Is this game to your liking?” He asks, and her eyes snap open.  _ What the hell kind of question is that? _ But he’s kept her secrets before, hasn’t breathed a word of her drunken confessions as far as she can tell, so she closes her eyes again and tells the truth.

“No. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been… Interesting. Who knew you could all be so cute?” She turns to look at him to see if she’s angered him with her teasing, but his eyes are still closed in the light and his face remains impassive. “Anyway—it’s all fake, so it’s not like I should get used to it. And it has to be  _ horrible _ for you, so…” She trails off and lets him fill in any blank he wants while she studies his face, all desire to nap the game away paused.  _ He looks different in here _ , she decides, and her hand is halfway to brushing his hair out of his face before she remembers herself and pulls back. 

“This facsimile doesn’t remind you of the human world?” He asks, and his eyes remain closed. 

“Not at all. I shouldn’t be here—no more than I should be in the Devildom, really.” She tears her eyes away from his prone figure and rolls over to lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. There’s a beat of silence between them and she considers, again, getting up to turn off the light. But she doesn’t have the same vision in the dark that the demons do, and she’s sure she’ll only trip and fall on her way back. So she settles for closing her eyes. 

“Perhaps…” he says, drawing out the word. And then she feels something on either side of her shoulders, pressing her forearms into the mountain of pillows.

“What—” She starts, but he presses a hand against her mouth and holds it there. Her words die in her throat because his face is almost pressed against hers, their noses almost touching. Her heart ( _ traitor, traitor, traitor _ , she thinks in time to its beating) pounds in her chest and she’s sure he can hear it, just like she’s sure, for a brief, terrifying, wonderful moment that he’s going to kiss her. 

“Perhaps you  _ belong _ here,” he tells her, relishing the way she goes soft, loosens into his hold, “with me.”

The meaning of his words wash over her and she  _ wants _ so badly. The weight of it threatens to crush her and she almost lets herself get pulled down by it, almost gives in and lets herself be taken by it. But then his lips twist into a victorious slant and she goes cold and remembers exactly where she is. Deep inside her chest she swears she feels something breaking and she sucks in a harsh breath at the pain of it.

Hot tears press against her eyes but she can’t speak, can’t roar at him to get off her. 

So she does the next best thing.

She parts her lips and lets one of his fingers slide into her mouth, relishes in his shock and anger when she bites down. Hard. He pulls away from her just the slightest bit, just enough for her to draw a full, shaking breath. 

“Don’t,” she tells him with a ragged whisper, her eyes glassy from the tears she’s trying and failing to blink away. “Don’t use what I… what I told you  _ in confidence _ for a—to win some stupid fucking  _ game. _ ” She takes the time as she sits up, pushing him away, to scrub the tears from her face with the back of her hand. She doesn’t care that they smear over her face, doesn’t care that she can feel her lower lip trembling. 

“You are  _ unbelievably cruel, _ ” she tells him, her voice breaking at the last word. She breaks out of his hold and scrambles to her feet, feeling limp and heavy at the same time. 

“Eleanor—” he tries, but she dances away from his grasp.

“Mm—nope.” She shakes her head violently, trying to disguise the sob that threatens to overcome her. “No. Get away from me.”

But she’s the one to retreat, leaving him staring at her like she’s slapped him hard across his face. The way his lips are just slightly parted, the way his eyes are a little wider than normal makes her feel worse, like  _ she’s _ the one who just tried to manipulate  _ him. _ She grits her teeth and yanks the door open, letting it bounce off the cinder block wall and slam shut behind her as she flees. It doesn’t matter to her if the game characters witness her meltdown; they’re background noise, barely static, only reacting to the things they’ve been scripted to. They’re not scripted to respond to emotional outbursts like hers, and so they don’t; they part like turbulent waters around a ship’s bow for her

At least here, in this fake world, she has something akin to a friend; every heroine has to, Levi explained during one of their first days there. So she’s been assigned one, and even though Ami is composed of only one dimension and doesn’t seem to understand the concept of personal space, she’s all that Eleanor has at the moment. Unsurprisingly, she’s in her club room, doing not much at all; it’s where she’s supposed to be based on the time of day. 

“Ami,” Eleanor says, her throat still tight from tears. 

“Can you believe we graduate in two days?” Ami asks, not noticing the drying tear trails running across Eleanor’s face. Eleanor grunts and lowers her into the seat across from the fake schoolgirl. Resting her face against the cool surface of the desk between them, watching the sun rapidly descend in the sky through the windows.  _ This wouldn’t hurt so much if I didn’t actually like him, _ she realizes bitterly, scrubbing her hands against her cheeks. 

“Ami,” Eleanor starts, knowing that she only has a few more minutes until the whole day resets and they’re all deposited back at the front gates, refreshed and ready to go. Physically, anyway. She sits up straight again, looking at the girl across from her and the way she’s given over all of her attention. “Do you think it’s… Selfish, or wrong, maybe, to want—to be—if I… Nevermind,” she finishes weakly. 

Ami continues to smile blankly at her, not programmed to respond to anything her temporary human companion is saying.

“Can you believe we graduate in two days?” Ami asks again.

“Can’t wait,” Eleanor replies hollowly.

* * *

Lucifer has the good sense to leave her alone all through the morning of the next day. She barely spared him a glance when they all spawn into the courtyard, and she ignores all of the demons as she stalks off to their first class. Leviathan catches up to her, followed closely by Satan and Mammon. Lucifer remains a distant fourth.

_ Good _ , she thinks bitterly, arranging her things so that her books create a very literal wall between their desks. She scribbles nonsense instead of notes and decides that  _ something _ is going to have to break—and it won’t be his pride.  _ There’s no way he’s ever going to apologize, _ she tells herself as she stares out the classroom window down into the courtyard below. 

So when they’re all dismissed for lunch, she tells Leviathan that she’ll meet him soon and grabs the strap of Lucifer’s school bag before he can leave. They have the room to themselves, and Eleanor feels some of the anger-fuelled bravery seep out of her. 

“Don’t  _ ever _ try to manipulate me like that again,” she spits out, forcing herself to look into his eyes. He remains impassive and she wishes he’d react in some way, give her any little hint of what he’s thinking. She almost holds out her hand for him to shake again, “ _ truce? _ ” on her lips, but that reminds her of his  _ first _ apology dinner, the one she never wants to repeat again, the one he’d actually  _ listened _ to her at, and that… She sets her jaw in defiance of her own soft thoughts. 

“Give me some space,” she orders him when she sees that he’s about to say something.  _ That _ draws his ire and she’s sickly satisfied with his reaction. “Give me space, and then we can be friends again.”

She leaves him then, and finds Leviathan, and tries to put every unpleasant thought out of her mind so that she can focus on finding some answer to the end of the game.  _ Tomorrow’s the day _ , she thinks, feeling sick all over again.

“Hey,” she says, rolling over on her side to face Leviathan. “How does this all work? I mean… What happens if I lo—if the game decides that everyone’s rankings are… similar?” She feels the false sun warm on her face and closes her eyes, soaking what she can of it up.  _ Didn’t realize I missed it so much _ , she thinks to herself so she doesn’t have to try and figure out which one she’ll accept. Because that means she’ll have to turn the others down and that…  _ Unbearable. Maybe I’ll just say yes to the first person to corner me, to get it over with. _ She ignores the small part of her that worries the game won’t let her do it, that she’ll have to spill all of her emotions out in front of some uncaring demon. 

“Dunno,” Leviathan tells her. She misses his quizzical look down at her as she stares up at the impossibly blue sky. Even though their day is only halfway over, the sun is just starting to set. 

“We should get going,” Leviathan says after a while. “Lucifer called a strategy meeting in the club room.”

“Did he?” Eleanor asks icily.  _ The club room _ has come to mean the drama club room, even though she and Leviathan are the only actual members. The hollow shells of the non-player characters never seemed to mind. But it’s utterly empty this time, barring herself and the demons. The golden light filtering in through the windows casts the whole room in an idyllic light belies the emotions of everyone assembled there.

“Tomorrow is finally the big day,” Satan says grimly. Lucifer nods. Eleanor retreats to the seat furthest from all of them. 

“ _ Man, _ I’m so worn out… I mean, seriously, are all games s’pposed to be this tiring?” Mammon stretches and groans, as if the game has taken a physical toll. “My nerves are all frazzled… This hasn’t been any fun at all, y’know?” He glances over at Eleanor to find that she’s staring out the window again, not giving any hint that she’s listening to a word anyone else is saying. 

“Putting a lot of time and effort into a game is a good thing!” Leviathan says, trying for a moment to brighten the mood. “Actually, if the game was any less difficult, had less content, or had fewer story scenes, it wouldn’t be worth playing. Although…” He looks sheepishly at his brothers. “This time, I have to say that even I’m a bit, um…”

“You’re totally beat, aren’t ya?”

“Think of any more embarrassing lines, I cannot…” Leviathan admits. 

Eleanor wants to throttle all of them.

“Embarrassing lines? No, just be honest and call them what they are: cliche, over-the-top, saccharine sweet lines.” Satan scoffs, and Eleanor feels her blood pressure rising.  _ Who told you to read shitty poetry, asshole? _ But she keeps her gaze focused on the courtyard outside, waiting for the last few moments of the day to die so they can get the whole affair over. 

“And after tomorrow, we’ll never have to do it again!”  _ Ouch _ , she thinks, actually offended.  _ That hurts _ . Eleanor gives up on trying to seem unaffected and hides her face in her arms, hoping it just seems like she’s sleeping. 

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Satan asks, and she can barely hear him over the blood rushing in her ears.

“Call Eleanor up to the roof after the graduation ceremony, each of us will. At different times,” Leviathan says, and Eleanor grimaces.  _ Good to know they’ve already talked about this. _

“So we’re all just gonna profess our love, and the one who’s chosen wins?” Mammon sounds strangely, to Eleanor’s ears, concerned. Worried even, maybe. But she doesn’t feel like dissecting that particular curiosity, and is happy to tune them all out until she hears her name again. 

“Eleanor, no matter who you choose, you shouldn’t have any regrets about it. In the end, this is only a game, after all.” Lucifer’s voice grates at her nerves, but it also makes her sit up and look at him. “So, relax and pick whomever you’d like.”

“You’re bein’ weirdly nice to Eleanor. What gives?” Mammon demands, crossing his arms.

“I want to get this idiotic game over with as soon as possible so we can get back to the real world,” Lucifer explains.  _ That’s more like it _ , she wants to bite out at him, but she keeps her lips pressed firmly together. 

“You  _ say _ that, sure, but perhaps it’s all part of your plan to raise your intimacy score?” Leviathan joins in on the suspicion.

“Think whatever you want,” Lucifer says, and Eleanor looks at him because, bizarrely, he looks  _ upset _ ; his brows are furrowed slightly and the corners of his lips are pulled down. Eleanor doesn’t have it in her to care too much. 

“Whatever,” she says, sliding out from behind her chair so she can leave them all behind. They’ll be together again soon anyway, she knows—the game will make sure of it. Her footsteps are lonely down the hallway as she retreats.  _ If we get stuck in the game and it’s my fault…  _ She doesn’t let herself finish the thought. 

“Eleanor,” she hears Satan call out after her, and because it isn’t Lucifer, she stops and turns to face him. “I just wanted to say… I feel bad, and I’m sorry.” 

She blinks up at him, not sure she’s heard him correctly. “About… what?”

“Lucifer and I are the reason you got caught up in all of this weird business. And before we go back to the real world, I just wanted to apologize for that.” He looks almost like he might say something else, but he shakes his head and turns to walk away from her instead. 

“Wait,” she calls out before he can get too far away. “I... Look, I’m sorry about all of this, too. You don’t—you  _ shouldn’t _ —have to force yourself to like someone you don’t. And as for  _ Lucifer _ ,” she scowls, which amuses him. “He doesn’t actually think of you as a child. He’s just… got a stick shoved up his ass about looking good in front of Diavolo. You’re his brother; he loves you.” There’s a soft, sunlight-filled moment between them before Satan scowls.

“What do  _ you _ know,  _ human? _ ” He asks, and Eleanor recoils from his scowl before it slides from his face and he laughs. “... I’m kidding. Sorry, I just wanted to say that.”

She relaxes slightly. 

“I can’t say that I wholly agree with you though, personally. But even so… You also said that I don’t need to force myself to like someone I don’t. Hmm.” He smiles at her and reaches out to touch her jaw. “That’s a refreshing point of view. You’re the first person who’s ever said anything like that to me; and here you are, just a  _ human _ .” He says the word coolly, as if still disgusted by her humanity. His warm “thanks,” then, surprises her, and allows him to get a few more steps away from her by the time her brain catches up.

“See you in a few minutes, I guess,” she calls after him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahaha yeah the game chapters are fun and all but what if i sprinkled a smidge of psychological trauma in there


	39. Graduation Day

Graduation day starts with an arc of blood that lands at her feet, spattering onto her shoes and lower legs. Uncomprehending for the first few moments before the screaming starts, she stares down at herself, blinking. 

And it takes one of the students in the courtyard to react to the corpse to snap her out of her stunned stupor, sending her stumbling backwards. Excluding an impressed  _ woah _ from Leviathan, Mammon is the first to react, wrapping Eleanor in a tight bear hug to spin her away from the computer-generated carnage. There’s a tidal wave of activity from the center of the crowd, sending the students scattering towards the furthest bounds of the school grounds. 

From the center bursts a monster, something with far too many joints in its arms for Eleanor to ever be comfortable with. It scents the air and turns, the head of one of their classmates held tight in its grip.

“Higher ground,” Lucifer orders. “Now.” The brothers are all too happy to comply, all springing to action immediately. Eleanor lets herself get dragged along, watching as the spider-like monsters rip through their classmates. He leads them inside, into the safety of the drama club room. None of the creatures have managed to breach the actual school building. Yet.

Eleanor closes her eyes and knows it’s only a matter of time because why  _ wouldn’t _ they be able to? Her lips feel like they’ve been welded shut, and she can’t even move her jaw to say that maybe they should go to the rooftop, maybe this is somehow her fault. The drying blood on her legs starts to itch. 

She reaches down to try and wipe it away, but only succeeds in smearing it, leaving sticky red trails and fingerprints all over her skin. A tight whine escapes from her throat as she holds her hands up to her face.  _ I can’t even remember that character’s name _ , she thinks, fingers trembling. 

“Ugh, gross,” Leviathan says, looking at the bloody mess of herself that she’s made, his eyes wide. 

“There’s a restroom down the hall,” Satan says, and Mammon catches Eleanor by the wrists before she can try to wipe her hands off on her skirt. 

“I’ll take her,” Mammon grunts as if she’s not even in the room. And he’s partly right—most of her is still out in the courtyard, replaying the image of her classmate getting eviscerated. 

“I’ll accompany you,” Satan says with a decisive nod, leading the way. Students rush by the now-open door, fleeing in panic as they desperately try to find their own hiding places. The sun, the notes distantly, is setting already; she’s aware enough to dread what might come when it’s gone completely. 

“What’s happening?” She whispers, but she’s drowned out by the crush of students in the hallways. Satan leads the way to the restroom, and Mammon guides her by the shoulders in front of him, unwilling to let her stumble along behind him and out of his sight. She’s grateful for his presence, the touchstone of his hands reminding her that this is real, that this isn’t another nightmare, but she’s not  _ alone  _ in it. 

“Levi and his games,” Satan says once they’re all inside, curling his lip in distaste. “He could have warned us all this might happen.” Eleanor laughs shakily and Mammon picks her up by the waist only to drop her down on the bathroom counter, in between two of the sinks. 

“Do you think he even knew this was a… possibility?” She asks, and Satan only shrugs as an answer while Mammon rips paper towels from the dispenser. He grumbles something about the game as he wets the towels and wrings them out.

“Who can say?” Satan replies, watching his brother with an amused expression. So does Eleanor, although she looks far more troubled than either of the demons crowding the bathroom with her. She still feels too raw to have either of them in close proximity, let alone to have them touch her. 

“I can do it,” she snaps, holding out her hands for the damp towels. He shoots her a hurt look and pulls away from her grasp.

“No,” he tells her petulantly. “I gotta take care of my human.” And she lets her hands fall down to her side to rest on the counter beside her because what can she say to that, really? She sighs and leans back against the wide mirror, watching him in the way that he watches her. 

“... Yeah. Okay,” she finally says, her chest tight and uncomfortable. She looks away from him when she feels his hands on her calves and accidentally catches Satan’s eyes with her own. He looks deeply embarrassed, as if he’d rather be anywhere else at the moment; Eleanor doesn’t blame him because she’d rather be anywhere but the game, too. But she can’t deny that it feels  _ nice _ to be treated so gently, even if his gentle swipes don't actually succeed in removing much of the now-dried blood. 

She wraps her fingers around his wrists and gives him a thankful squeeze. “I think we should probably go back,” she announces. 

“Probably,” Satan agrees. “As much as I don’t want to be around Lucifer, I don’t think splitting up is a brilliant idea.” 

_ You were the one who decided to come with us, _ she wants to point out, but doesn’t. Instead, she bumps Mammon’s hips with her knees, asking without words for him to let her down. He stands motionless between her legs. Satan clears his throat as if to remind his brother that someone else is in the room, and Eleanor realizes that most of the commotion from outside has died down. And there are heavy footsteps approaching.

The bathroom door flings open, rattling on the hinges, and Eleanor shrinks against the counter, expecting it to be one of the monsters from the courtyard. Instead, it’s Lucifer.

She’s not sure which is worse.

“Is now really the time to be flirting?” He asks, sneer on his lips as he takes in the scene before him. The tips of Mammon’s ears go pink.

“‘M not  _ flirting _ ,” Mammon sputters. “‘Specially not with—”

Eleanor hops off the counter, heedless of the lack of space between herself and the embarrassed demon. Her body drags against his and she shoots him a poisonous glare when he stiffens against her.  _ So I’m okay to fuck, but not to flirt with? _

“What do you want?” She doesn’t care to keep her sour mood from her voice, and isn’t sure she’s even capable of it at the moment. 

“We should retire to the rooftop. All of the other students are…” His gaze flicks to the remnants of blood still clinging to her shoes, like he doesn’t want to say the word  _ blood _ in front of her; Eleanor doesn’t think he’s quite that delicate. 

“You mean retreat,” she corrects, smoothing her skirt down over her legs. “But maybe you’re right.” She knows that she’s riling him up and is angry at the pleasure she draws from it.  _ It was always supposed to end on the rooftop, I guess, _ she tells herself, and makes for the door. Except instead of letting her lead the charge, Lucifer glowers at her and ensures that he leads the way out by barring her way.  _ First in all things as always. Asshole. _

Logically, she knows that the monsters are likely to be in the school soon, if they aren’t already. And logically, she knows that it’s probably best if he takes charge anyway; aside from schoolyard scraps, she’s never actually fought anything before. But she doesn’t want to feel particularly logical at the moment. 

He leads them up to the rooftop, and their passage is suspiciously quiet. The moon is out now, its silvery fullness illuminating the area almost as well as the sun did. When she peeks over the edge (drawing a strangled, frustrated noise from Mammon, who drags her back) she’s thankful to see that the bodies have disappeared, leaving the entire set looking barren. 

“Wasn’t this supposed to be graduation day?” Satan asks the question they’re all thinking on some level. 

Lucifer nods. “It was, yes. And we were supposed to profess our love to the heroine,” his gaze slides over to Eleanor, but she keeps herself busy looking out into the dark horizon, “up on the roof and complete the game.”

“And all this?” Mammon gestures to everything wildly. “What about that, huh?”

“This is totally exciting! I mean, who would’ve thought that what looked like a simple dating sim would have this crazy twist at the end‽ Not to mention how totally  _ bloody _ it is! OMG, this is so  _ epic _ ,” he breathes, and Eleanor feels a little nauseous again at the mention of all of the blood. 

“Don’t sound so happy,” Mammon grumbles. 

“Um…” Eleanor points out at the horizon, watching a dark mass grow larger and larger.  _ Please no more monsters. _

“Looks like the last boss has just found  _ us, _ rather than the other way around,” Lucifer says, drawing his brothers’ attention to where Eleanor is pointing.  _ Is that a… dog? A  _ fire-breathing _ dog? _

“What the—No way!  _ That’s _ the last boss?” Leviathan looks at the beast, his mouth open.

“It would seem so,” Lucifer says, just as the beast growls so low and deep and loud Eleanor can feel it in her bones.

“Cerberus!” Satan hisses, recoiling from the dog’s looming shape. The closer it gets, the more likely Eleanor thinks it is that Cerberus will be easily able to clear the entire school.

“Wait… we’re lucky that the boss is Cerberus, don’tcha think? I mean, this’ll be easy. With Lucifer here on our side, Cerberus’ll be like a sweet little puppy!” Mammon claps his hands together as if the matter is settled, but Satan shakes his head.

“I doubt it will be that simple… This isn’t the Devildom, after all.” Flames lick out of Cerberus’s three mouths, as if the beast has heard, understood, and approved of Satan’s statement. 

“Cerberus, sit!” Lucifer orders, throwing out his arm to emphasize the command. Cerberus stares at him. He stares at Cerberus. 

And then Cerberus growls again, molten pools of drool dripping from his jaws as he lunges at Satan. They scatter on the roof, desperately trying to avoid the razor sharp teeth and flames spilling out from the monster dog. Lucifer is the only one who remains still. 

“ _ Cerberus! _ ” He roars, his voice echoing around the rooftop, bouncing off the buildings around them. Eleanor feels the echo of the demand course through her and shudders at the sensation, trying to edge further away from the demonic dog and its master. Cerberus pauses, still snarling at them all; but now, all of his eyes are focused solely on Lucifer. “I believe I told you to  _ sit, _ ” Lucifer says, his voice even and low. “Or didn’t you hear your master’s command?”

One of Cerberus’s heads whines, its ears pinned back against its head. 

“Sit, Cerberus!  _ Now! _ Just you  _ try _ harming my brother,” he adds, narrowing his eyes at the dog. The rightmost head seems to be considering it as it sniffs towards Satan, sending hot wafts of air out across the rooftop. Lucifer reaches out and swats that head’s nose hard; Cerberus blinks and jerks backwards, sitting so hard Eleanor swears she feels the ground rumble beneath him. He picks up one of his forepaws and uses it to cover the afflicted nose, whining. 

If it wasn’t for the fact that just a few moments before the dog had been menacing them, Eleanor would have felt bad for it. 

“Woah. Lucifer made Cerberus follow orders here in the game world, too!” There’s a hint of awe in his voice. Eleanor has time to look over to Satan, who has a hand pressed over his chest; he looks like he’s warring with himself, and Eleanor hopes that at least some of him is impressed with the way Lucifer stood in front of Cerberus for him. 

And the confetti rains down from the sky. Eleanor holds out a hand and catches some of the confetti in it; it shimmers in the bright moonlight back up at her. She feels it collecting in her hair, and looks up to see it fluttering down onto everyone else as well.

“ _ Mission complete!” _ A voice from the sky says. “ _ Congratulations! Game complete! _ ” The same flash of light that brought them into the game washes over all of them again, and Eleanor closes her eyes against it. She doesn’t open them again until she hears the rustling of fabric.

Mammon is patting himself down, a wide grin stretched across his face. “We’re back in the real world!”

“We just broke the RTA speedrun record!” Levi gasps as he glances at the clock on his screen. “It only took us three hours!”  _ It felt like a million years _ , Eleanor wants to gripe; instead, she remains silent, just happy that she’s no longer covered in blood or confetti. 

“We did it, Satan! We made it back to the real world!” Mammon holds his hands up to his brother for a high five. But it’s Lucifer’s body that shakes his head, frowning.

“I’m over here, Mammon,” Satan says from Lucifer’s body. 

“It didn’t work,” Leviathan says, looking between Satan and Lucifer. He chews on his bottom lip. 

“It seems the magic that caused us to switch bodies hasn’t worn off yet,” Satan nods to Leviathan’s computer, where the game’s title screen is still displayed. 

“Seriously?” Mammon groans.

“What if you guys stayed inside the game world until the spell wears off here in the Devildom?” Leviathan suggests, and Eleanor immediately counts herself out of that particular adventure. 

“I suppose we could do that,” Lucifer says, but he doesn’t look enthused about the prospect of whiling away his time inside of the game. 

“What if Cerberus attacks again?” Mammon protests. 

“Not a problem. I’ve got Lucifer,” Satan says with a smirk.

“What’s that?” Lucifer asks, playing at being incredulous. “You want to force me to stare down Cerberus again?”

“Well, it’s nothing my  _ big brother _ can’t handle, now is it? Cerberus becomes little more than a regular dog when faced with  _ your _ icy stare,” Satan says, and Eleanor can’t tell how much of it he really means. 

“If you’d like, Satan, I could teach you how to command Cerberus to do as you say.” Lucifer’s imperious stare (using Satan’s face) lets everyone know that he doesn’t foresee having any trouble whatsoever, no matter who his pupil is.

“Don’t be crazy. That’s something only you can do; I wouldn’t have a chance,” Satan scoffs. 

“Actually, I think you have what it takes to do it,” Lucifer says, and Eleanor looks between the two suspiciously, waiting for the other shoe to drop. .

“Well, maybe. I  _ was _ once a part of you, after all,” Satan says.

_ And there it is, _ Eleanor thinks, rubbing her forehead in exasperation as Satan laughs. Lucifer does not look amused at all, choosing to look away from Satan and pretend he hasn’t said anything at all. 

“You should see how goofy you look right now!” Satan continues to laugh, doubling over. It’s unnerving, seeing the actions come from Lucifer’s body. 

“... Hey,” Mammon elbows Leviathan lightly. “Check it out. Think they’ve made up?” But Leviathan isn’t paying attention at all; he’s brought up Akuzon and is frantically typing something. When she looks, Eleanor is surprised to see what he’s accomplished in the short span of time he’s had. 

“Shhhh,” Leviathan hisses at his brother, waving a hand behind him. “Don’t talk to me right now. I have to be the  _ first _ to review  _ Dogi Maji _ on Akuzon!” He types out a few more words and then submits his review, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin on his face. 

“Wait, now that I think about it, why’d we have to spend all that time raisin’ our intimacy scores, anyway? It didn’t even matter!”

Eleanor longs for the sweet release of a lengthy coma, one that preferably has her waking up back in the human world a year later with her memory wiped. But since those seem to be in short supply, she settles for slipping out of Leviathan’s room while the brothers argue amongst themselves about the necessity of raising their scores. Leviathan is the only one in favor—he claims it’s the backbone of the game, but Eleanor can’t find it within herself to care. 

Part of her knows that they’re not talking about  _ her _ , and that is the part she tries to champion so that the other part—the part that whispers that it  _ is _ about her, that they wouldn’t be complaining so much if Leviathan hadn’t foisted the role of heroine onto her, that she’s not  _ quite _ worth all of the time and attention they’d devoted—is drowned out. 

“Hey there, little guy,” she says, holding out a finger so the sprite hovering above her head can rest. The light is too low for her to tell what color it bears, but it hardly matters to her. It goes with her all the way to the planetarium, where she sprawls out on the plush run in the center of the room.  _ It’s no bed, but it’ll do, _ she tells herself as she presses a hand into the thick fibers.  _ And a demon sprite is no teddy bear, but… It’ll do _ . She curls around it protectively, as if it needs her protection, and stares at it in the gloom—not that she can make it out. Even with the dim light of the mock planets glowing far above her, the sprite is still little more than a spot of darkness in her vision. 

_ If Satan and Lucifer are still swapped tomorrow, _ she decides,  _ I’ll pay Belphegor another visit. Maybe he has an idea.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some quality time with anyone who isn't one of those four is probably in order, yeah? But hmmmmm, who shall it be? 🤔


	40. Quid Pro Quo

Lucifer and Satan’s magical mishap has one unforeseen benefit that Eleanor plans to abuse as much as she can. Lucifer is far too concerned with keeping his brothers on a short leash to notice that Eleanor keeps slipping away to the attic; she isn’t causing any trouble—that he can see, at any rate—and he respects her wishes to be left alone. Belphegor notices the uptick in his visits and falls upon the change with hungry interest. 

“Magical books causing a lot of nonsense,” Eleanor explains when he asks, shrugging her shoulders. “They’ve switched bodies, which is a  _ really weird _ spell, if you ask me, and so Lucifer has his hands full.”

Belphegor’s eyes glimmer and his small smile is fierce as he leans forward. 

“Oh?”

“It should wear off eventually, unless you have any ideas on how to end it early” she explains, misinterpreting his interest. “But Lucifer mentioned not having full use of his powers, and—oh, shit.” She leans back away from him, eyeing him critically, as if he might collapse in front of her as they speak. “Have you been… eating? Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“The only thing I want from you is to get out of this prison,” he says, his voice clipped. She’s used to his blistering tones and how he snaps when he’s irritated, but she tries not to hold it against him too much. 

“Okay, fine. But, like, a candy bar might be a close second, right?”

He shoots her a baleful look and curls up against the pillow that he always has with him, but he doesn’t actually fall asleep. There’s a certain safety in his imprisonment that she finds comforting, and so even when he looks at her like he’s hoping she might choke she can’t take him all that seriously. 

“Still. If you do actually need anything, let me know, okay? I’ll see what I can do about it. Until then…” She pulls a deck of battered cards out of her pocket, waving it in his direction. “Go fish?” He nods, barely, and she deals out the cards, flicking his under the door without touching the bars separating them. 

“You really do like sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he comments as he looks at the cards he’s been dealt. She pulls a face when she sees her own cards and puts them face-down on the floor in front of her.

“Guess so. Are you really complaining about that?” She quirks an eyebrow and his face remains impassive. “Still. Maybe this whole body switch thing is good news, you know? If Lucifer and Satan can make up, even a little bit, then that should mean good things for you, right?”

Belphegor only laughs at her. 

“They’ll never make up; are you kidding? They’ve been at each others’ throats since Satan popped into existence.”

Eleanor shrugs and flips one of her cards over. “Got any queens? Maybe you’re right. But maybe you’d also be surprised. I don’t know.” He rakes his eyes over her in a way that she forces herself to ignore. Finally, he settles on the nazar around her neck, which he points to, his movement catching her attention.

“Interesting piece of jewelry,” he says, and Eleanor fingers the chain, tangling it up in her free hand. She forgets that she’s even wearing it, sometimes, but it hasn’t left her neck since the night she put it on. It’s stopped her nightmares, she’s sure; she hasn’t had an episode of paralysis since she’s put it on. 

“Yeah,” she says, reaching for the deck of cards. “Guess I’ve been sort of collecting it lately.” The rings on her fingers glint in the low light as she flexes her fingers at him meaningfully. He barely pretends to play along with her insistence on playing card games and requires prodding to even stay awake. 

“Okay, I know this isn’t a particularly thrilling game, but…” she sighs and he just blinks at her slowly, like a cat. “We don’t have to keep playing if you don’t want to.” He doesn’t reply, again, and she doesn’t feel like trying to play with someone who doesn’t want to play at all. She drops her cards onto the deck and then slides the entire deck under the door. Belphegor moves suddenly, in a jerky, quick motion as he reaches out for the deck.

Eleanor pulls back, dragging her hand away from him and smacking it against the bottom decorative bar of the door. She hisses at the electric burning arcing across the back of her hand and the nazar flares to life around her neck.  _ Hell of a curse you have there, Lucifer, _ she thinks, rubbing her smarting skin and making a mental note to never, ever touch the door again. 

Belphegor laughs softly at her as she rubs the back of her skin, trying to work away the brief pain.

“Jackass,” she snaps, irritated at her surprise and the pain still lancing through the back of her hand. He leans back, shuffling the cards between his hands. 

“Language,” he tells her through a yawn. “I prefer solitaire anyway.”

“If you say so,” she tells him with a shrug. She peeks down at her hand to see that the magical shock hasn’t left a mark and is relieved; at least she won’t have to try to come up with a story to explain it away. 

“Don’t you usually turn and run at about this point?” Belphegor asks, lazily tracing the whorls on the hardwood floor with a finger. Eleanor quirks an eyebrow at him and leans back but doesn’t fully move away from the door.

“Implying that right now anywhere I’d run to is better than being here at the moment.”

“A human shouldn’t be living with demons,” he acknowledges, giving up on sitting and laying himself out on the floor. 

“I thought I could ignore my stupid emotions, but… Nope. Turns out I couldn’t.” She twists the rings on her fingers and frowns deeply, not really looking at Belphegor. He watches the rings that he fingers seek out without thinking about it and is surprised to see that she touches on all of them. 

“Disgusting. Why would you think I'd want to hear about your emotions?” He looks away from her, choosing to stare at the ceiling. She pouts at him, knowing he can’t see it, but privately agrees with him.  _ There’s no reason he  _ would _ care _ . 

“You are, literally, a captive audience. You don’t have a choice.”  _ This _ grabs his attention, and he turns his head to pin her with a hateful glare.  _ Whoops, _ she thinks.  _ Maybe I should have read the room a bit.  _ She fiddles with the nazar around her neck, twining the chain around her fingers. 

“Maybe I should go, though,” she tells him, and his expression doesn’t change as he watches her stand. “Leave you to your game of solitaire.”

* * *

She sits cross-legged in the gym, far out of Beelzebub’s way as she helps him keep track of his reps. They’re both painfully aware that he doesn't really  _ need _ the help, but she’s thankful for the excuse to hide away anyway. He works in silence for a long time, letting her watch and mull through her own thoughts. Chatting with Belphegor—no matter how poorly their conversations go, or how short they are—usually makes her think of Beelzebub.

It’s a fine line to walk for her, knowing that his brother is just upstairs in the attic but being unable to say anything about it. So she prefers to sit in silence with him, waiting for him to supply something to talk about.

“So,” he finally says, wiping down the machine he’s just finished with before sitting on the weight bench to look at her. “Want to talk about it?” He says it easily, casually, and she looks hard at him. 

“About what?”

He juts his chin at her, indicating her slumped shoulders and the way her fingers fidget in her lap. She forces her hands to still and briefly considers sitting on them so they can’t betray her anymore. 

“... It’s not important,” she mutters, staring at the wall so she doesn’t have to meet his eyes.  _ He sure is perceptive when he wants to be _ , she thinks.  _ Not that I’ve exactly been hiding my moping. _

“No?” He asks. “Seems like it might be important to you, though.”

“Yeah, well…” She ducks her head, not sure how to counter his point because she doesn’t want to lie. Not to him, at least; she’s fairly sure he’d be able to pick it apart anyway. So she just rolls her shoulders in a lazy shrug. 

“I just think it’s funny, is all. That you’re going around making all these pacts so you can try to get Belphie and Lucifer to make up, but you won’t do the same thing for yourself.”

“... Please don’t point out my hypocrisy,” she tells him, forcing a laugh.  _ These twins are on some wavelength bullshit, _ she thinks, trying to keep her face neutral, her expressions far away from her thoughts.  _ But still… _ “You’re favoring your left arm,” she points out to change the subject.

Beelzebub shrugs.

“I might have pulled it a little in practice,” he tells her as if he hasn’t noticed it until she pointed it out. He rubs his shoulder, where she presumes most of the pain is coming from. Eleanor frowns and gestures for him to sit in front of her on the floor.

“Then you shouldn’t be continuing to strain it. _ Honestly, _ ” she breathes, shaking her head at him. He lumbers over to her and sits in front of her cross-legged, asmused at her fussing.

“Your  _ back _ , Beel,” she clarifies, swirling her finger in a circular motion, which he complies with. “Tell me if it hurts,” she says, and presses her fingers along the hard muscles of his back, moving upwards until she finds something. She winces in sympathy when her fingertips find the hard knot of muscle at the base of his neck and she works at it, wishing her hands were warmer. 

“You have a knot here,” she accuses, pressing a thumb into it. He doesn’t so much as wince, even though she knows that if their positions were reversed her eyes would be watering. She continues to work at the knot until she can feel it start to loosen. Beneath her hands she can feel his chest thrum with the same vibrations she’s heard from Mammon; she almost asks him about it before he speaks, pulling away from her grasp.

“You’re good with your hands,” he tells her.

“Yeah,” she agrees, thinking of how her friends usually seek her out to pick apart tough knots in costumes or help in braiding wigs for a particular role. Working with the tiny parts of her sewing machine and gathering heavy fabric to work requires deft, strong fingers, but she’s never given it much thought before. He leans back so that his bare shoulder is pressed against hers and he pins her with a meaningful stare.

“You probably think that all I think about is food,” he tells her. “But don’t tease me.” 

Her brows furrow. “I wasn’t teas—”

“Or you might regret it,” he talks over her and  _ oh _ , she thinks distantly;  _ now _ she knows what he means. His gaze flicks down for a second to the hollow of her throat, where she’s sure he can see her pulse thundering, before returning to her eyes. 

_ Or I might not, _ she almost tells him, and then mentally kicks herself. _ That’s what got me into trouble in the first place! _

“Oh,” she says, feeling like all the air has been stolen from her lungs. She looks away from him and clears her throat, wishing he'd say or do something to break the silence.  _ Don’t start something with a demon you aren't willing to finish, _ she remembers Satan’s words from the night of the blood moon.

“I have to… go,” she says slowly, sadly, winding her fingers through the locks of his hair framing his face. Beelzebub sits up so that she can move. She stands and rubs her own neck nervously and looks down at him. “See you later, though?”

He nods once, solemnly. 

She leaves and winds her way through the House of Lamentation until she finds herself standing outside of Mammon’s room, her stomach twisted into knots. His door looms in front of her.  _ It has no business looking as spooky as it does, _ she thinks, ignoring that it’s the demon inside that’s actually making her nervous. She takes a deep breath to steady herself and then knocks on the door.

When there’s no response she knocks again, harder, before she can let her nerves overtake her. 

“Oi,” she hears come from inside. “Chill out. I’m comin’.” She swipes her hands through her hair and breathes out hard through her nose.

“Oh. Hey,” Mammon says when he opens his door. She walks forward and he walks backwards into his room, until she can close the door behind her. 

“Hey,” she says, clearing her throat and looking away from him because the way he’s looking at her makes the butterflies in her stomach riot. Eventually she takes another deep breath and forces herself to look up at him.

“Did we make a mistake?” She asks, her back pressed against his door, hand on the doorknob in case she needs to try and bolt. Not that she believes for a moment that he’d  _ do _ anything to her; she’s more concerned that  _ she’s _ the one who is going to do something stupid. Again. 

“Wh—?”

“I mean… I’m not asking—I’m not saying that we have to define anything, but…” She tugs at the lock of hair that falls across her shoulder nervously. “I like you. And I’m not going to demand anything from you, but please don’t tease me, okay? If you like me at all, please don’t act like you don’t.”  _ Way to sound like a seven year old, _ she winces. But she’s not ready to say that she loves anyone—let alone a demon, the thought of which terrifies her—but  _ like, _ as childish as it sounds, she can confess to. There’s a moment of silence between them and she covers her face with her hands, wondering if it’s true that a person can die of embarrassment. 

“I  _ knew _ the Great Mammon made your heart go all pitter-patter,” he says, reaching out to tease her fingers away from her eyes. 

“Jerk,” she says, her voice muffled by the palms of her hands. Her heart is, indeed, doing the little pitter-patter thing that he mentioned, and it makes her embarrassed and angry and sad. She’s not sure why, exactly, she thought he’d take it seriously, but for some reason she did. He succeeds in pulling her hands away from her face and she looks away from him, off to the side and down to his floor.

“Hey. I’m your first man, ain’t I?” He says, smirking down at her, and she finds herself nodding numbly, only having half heard him. Her hands are still in his and he leans down so his face is in hers and she can’t look away. “And you’re my human,” he proclaims, pulling her into a hug by wrapping her arms around his chest. 

“Fine,” she mumbles into his chest, her voice muffled by his shirt. He lets go of her hands when she actually hugs him and tugs her gently away from his door, further into his room. She wonders if it’s actually fixed anything, and then decides that it might have; she didn’t ask him to define anything but she realizes that he has, in his own strange way.  _ At least, I think so. Maybe. _

“Attagirl,” he tells her, sweeping a hand down her back in a way that makes her shiver. She pulls away from him, her face red from her own embarrassment. He’s cool and confident as he tips her face up to his, not a trace of his usual blush or stuttering because she seems to have taken all of it for herself. 

And then a knock sounds out from his door.

“Mammon. It’s Lucifer. Find Eleanor and meet me down at the entrance hall in five minutes,” Lucifer demands using Satan’s voice, and Eleanor stiffens in Mammon’s arms. Mammon scowls and looks at his closed door. “We have somewhere to be.”

“Fine,” he shouts back. “Keep your hair on!” He grumbles something about interfering brothers and Eleanor holds her breath until she hears Lucifer’s steps retreating back down the hallway. Whatever ardour he’d just been stoking in her has been sapped by Lucifer’s interruption, and Eleanor wiggles out of his grasp with a small frown.

“Whaddya say?” Mammon asks, throwing her a lopsided, lascivious grin. “Could do a lot in five minutes.”

“You sound like Asmo,” she tells him, shaking her head. “Besides, I don’t particularly want Lucifer bursting in.” And that Mammon does  _ not _ like the sound of, based on the gagging noise that comes from his mouth. She laughs lightly at his antics and pulls him along behind her. 

“Let’s go see what he wants, I guess.” 


	41. To London

Eleanor is particularly pleased with herself that she talked Lucifer into giving her enough time to pack an overnight bag before he dragged her along on his trip. He’s remained mum, so far, on what exactly this  _ trip _ is about, but she has a feeling that it is at least tangentially related to the spell he finds himself under.

She’s less pleased that Mammon seems to think she’s going to let him hide his purchases beside her toothbrush. 

“I don’t think magic stones work like that—right? I mean, if you break it apart, wouldn’t that just dilute—”

“Leave him be. Pretend you don’t even know him,” Lucifer says, a heavy hand on her shoulder as he guides her away from Mammon and the store window he’s leaning against. She allows it. When she told him to leave her alone in the game, she hadn’t actually thought he’d follow through with that in the real world but he has. On top of that, he’s been acting kind in a way that makes her suspicious, as if his behavior is in lieu of the apology she knows she won’t verbally get. 

“Lucifer, some  _ on! _ ” Mammon whines “I mean, tell me how this is fair, huh? Here it is, my day off, and you’re draggin’ us all around town after interruptin—” but he cuts himself off when Eleanor shoots him a worried glance, shaking his head instead. “And you’re not even gonna reward me for it? C’mon, the least you could do is buy me a magic stone… Or a hundred!”  _ All he needs to do now is to stamp his foot,  _ Eleanor thinks, watching the way he trails behind them.

“So now you’re going to try getting angry at me? As if that would work,” Lucifer snorts. “And seriously, a  _ reward? _ What are you, a child? The entire reason I brought you along with me to begin with is to get  _ you _ away from Satan.”

It seems plausible, at least, but Eleanor has no idea why she’s been dragged along for the shopping trip or whatever adventure he has planned afterwards. 

“When you two pair up, nothing good ever comes of it.  _ Especially _ when I am expected to clean up the mess,” but Lucifer seems distracted as he scans the stores down the street. “The speech is coming up, and yet the curse that caused us to switch bodies shows no signs of going away.” He spots what he’s looking for and keeps Eleanor close to his side as he moves down the street to a little side vendor. A few pieces of golden grimm exchange hands, and Lucifer drops a little sachet into one of his pockets.

“Doncha think it’s about time to give in and ask Satan to do it for you? You’re sorta out of options here. I mean, all ya gotta say is ‘Satan, no funny business this time. Give the speech and be done with it.’”

Lucifer shoots his brother a poisonous glare from over his shoulder. 

“I have no intention of begging him for his help. Even if I  _ did _ do that, I couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t end up trying something nefarious anyway.” Mammon grins at his brother’s words, his smug smile stretching all the way across his face.

“Ya sure about that?” He asks.

“Certain. This is Satan we’re talking about.”

“Ya know, I know you’re serious and all, but hearing those words come outta Satan’s mouth makes it hard not to laugh,” Mammon snickers, not even bothering to hide his delight. But then he sobers slightly. “Anyway, after everything that went down inside that game, Satan seems like he’s changed some. Doncha think?”

Happy to have something to contribute to the conversation, Eleanor nods. “I think he’s changed a little,” she says. Mammon flings an arm around her waist—avoiding her shoulders because that would have him touching Lucifer—and Eleanor finds herself the very squished center of a demon sandwich.

“That’s what I’m sayin’! You see it too; you’re smart, Eleanor!” He crows, proud that his human is agreeing with him. “Did ya hear that, Lucifer? Eleanor agrees with  _ me! _ But like… How do I put it? It’s like Satan’s more chill when it comes to you now, Lucifer. He’s not all bitter and stuff anymore.”

Lucifer barely spares Eleanor and Mammon a glance—which feels to Eleanor more like a glare—before he places a guiding hand on her shoulder to direct her to a new storefront.

“Come with me, Eleanor; I’m going to head into this store here.” At Lucifer’s words, Mammon’s arm drops from around her waist. 

“Are you even listenin’ to me?” He protests, irate. Lucifer glances back at his brother, foot already on the small step leading to the store.

“Not at all, no,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Also, I don’t believe that he’s changed; we’re talking about  _ Satan. _ Since the day he came into this world, his entire purpose in life has been to defy me. And now you’re suggesting he’s changed? Absolutely not.”

“Oh, now, I dunno about that,” Mammon says as he follows them into the little store. Like, just yesterday I told him we should totally use the fact that he looks like you to our advantage. I said we should pull a scam, make some easy money, you know—but Satan wasn’t havin’ any of it. He was like ‘nah, I’m tired of doing stuff like that,’ and ‘eh, too much work.’ It used to be that he’d jump at an opportunity like that, but now he’s no fun at all! Before, he would’ve done  _ anything _ if it meant makin’ life difficult on you. But suddenly…” Mammon shakes his head as if in disappointment.

“Mammon,” Lucifer intones slowly, trying not to attract the attention of the few other shoppers or the shopkeep. Undeterred, Mammon continues.

“I mean, opportunities like this don’t come around every day, ya know? And he’s  _ wastin’ _ it! We could totally be making ourselves some money right now!” The Avatar of Greed expels a gusty sigh, and Eleanor shrinks away from the murderously angry expression on his brother’s face.

“Mammon, did I hear you correctly? You were planning on taking advantage of the fact that Satan looks like me to scam people?” Lucifer’s voice is deceptively soft, and Eleanor places a placating hand on his chest. 

“If you hit him here, you’re going to break the display,” she points out, nodding to the display in question. It’s covered with delicate-looking crystals that would surely shatter if Mammon is thrown into them. Lucifer looks down at her and then—to her endless surprise—actually visibly takes her words into consideration. She watches as his gaze flickers from her, to the display, to his brother. 

“Mammon, go and stand outside like the brat you insist on behaving as,” he orders, and Mammon shivers at the force of his brother’s words but doesn’t continue to argue. Eleanor is, to say the least, surprised when he leaves to stand outside as Lucifer demanded. Lucifer watches him the whole way, glaring at him with narrowed eyes.

“Your hand,” he finally says once he’s convinced that Mammon isn’t likely to cause any trouble outside. Eleanor looks at him and then, realizing she still has her hand on his person, pulls back so sharply she almost elbows a stack of dried herbs. 

“Sorry,” she tells him, sheepish. And then she looks around them for anything to change the subject. “What do we need here?” He looks around them and then finally settles on a rack of oddly-shaped pendants.

“Something to dowse with,” he tells her, reaching out to select one of them. He bypasses the ones made solely out of metal, finding himself drawn to the crystals instead. Lucifer does not select the more ornate pendants, the ones that glitter and glimmer in the lights. Instead, he picks a small, clear one. “Quartz should do.”

“... Great,” she says, trying to remember back to her classes.  _ Something about dispelling magic, _ she thinks she remembers the instructor saying.  _ But I doubt that this spell can be broken by a little bit of clear quartz… _ But she follows him up to the shopkeeper anyway and watches as he pays for the trinket. Mammon is still pouting when they rejoin him outside.

“ _ Mammon, _ ” Lucifer hisses, following the verbal warning swiftly with a solid smack to the back of his younger brother’s head. Eleanor winces in sympathy and pats him on the arm as they follow him into a restaurant. 

“I mean, seriously,” Mammon groans as they take their seats. “Did ya have to hit me?”

Lucifer glares at Mammon from over his menu. “You should be thankful I'm not in my real body, or the damage would’ve been much worse. But not to worry—I’ll be back to my old self soon enough. Then we’ll do something about the overly  _ lenient _ beatings you’ve been getting while I’ve been in Satan’s body.”

Eleanor sips at her water nervously and looks away from the brothers, knowing that Lucifer’s threats are not in vain.  _ Stop digging yourself holes, Mammon, _ she wants to tell him from across the table.

“Whaddya mean  _ don’t worry? _ I don’t need any more punishment! None!” Mammon protests as someone brings their food out to them. 

“Are you going to tell me you don’t need food, either? Because all you've been doing is talking. If you don’t eat your food, you’re going to lose your chance, you know.” Lucifer picks at his own food delicately, and Eleanor has to hide her small smile behind her hands. She doesn’t have the courage to tease Lucifer about how paternal his words sounded. 

“Oh, I’m  _ definitely _ gonna eat,” Mammon says, already digging into his meal.

“Well, this is your reward for coming with me. So eat as much as you’d like,” Lucifer says, wearing a smile that Eleanor has seen on Satan’s face before. She picks at her own plate suspiciously. 

“Okay, I will! I take back everything I said. You’re the  _ best, _ Lucifer!” And he does, with an enthusiasm that reminds Eleanor more of Beelzebub.

“What’s wrong, Eleanor?” Lucifer says, pausing to look at her untouched meal. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Something’s fishy,” she tells him, frowning a little as she does so. “You’re being  _ very _ nice, Lucifer.” He smiles at her words and inclines his head in acknowledgement of her words.

“Come to think of it, I’ve heard that there’s a famous story in the human world about an evil witch who fattens up children and then eats them. But I’m a demon, not a witch. And as much as I enjoy a good human soul, I’m  _ not _ fond of human flesh. So go ahead,” he tells her, pushing her plate closer to her. She almost tells him that his words aren’t reassuring at all when he speaks again. “Eat. Have as much as you like.”

“I couldn’t eat another bite,” Mammon eventually says, leaning back in his seat. 

“Yes, I”m sure you couldn’t. And guess what? Now you get to compensate me for all of that food you ate through hard work!” Lucifer beams at his brother.  _ And there’s the catch, _ Eleanor thinks, satisfied that at least she’d been expecting it. Mammon blusters in his confusion. 

“Our journey is taking us to the human world,” he says, pushing their plates away so most of the table is cleared. “And you two are coming with me.” 

“Ooh, this is awesome! It’s been such a long time since I’ve gone up there for fun. I used to corrupt human souls left and right—make a bunch of money doin’ it, too.” A dreamy look crosses his face and Eleanor is grateful that Diavolo’s program protects  _ her _ soul…  _ At least, I think so. _ She pulls a face and hopes she remembers to ask Simeon about that the next time she sees him. “We’re gonna go on a massive spending spree! It’ll be loads of fun, Eleanor!”

“Why are we going topside, anyway?” She asks, hoping that they’re not expecting her to help them reap human souls. Lucifer pulls a map out of a hidden pocket and spreads it across the table and holds the pendant over it, crystal dangling a few inches above the Atlantic Ocean. 

“Because the cursed book that caused me to switch bodies with Satan was created by a witch, and we are going to find her. I’m guessing that she should be able to lift the curse and return me to my proper body.” From across the table, Mammon blanches. Lucifer continues to ignore his brother as he watches the crystal swing lazily over the map, narrowing his eyes as it slows down, starting to pinpoint an area. 

“Did you say a witch? A witch that created a forbidden book that could make people switch bodies?W-wait, could that be—” Mammon stands, knocking his chair back behind him. “Y’know what? I think I’m gonna go ahead and sit this one out.” Lucifer’s hand shoots out and snags Mammon by the front of his shirt, muscling him back down into a seated position. 

“Did you really think I’d simply let you run off, Mammon?” Lucifer asks, and beside him, Eleanor shifts uncomfortably. “I know why you don’t want to go; it just so happens that this witch is a  _ big _ fan of both you and Satan.” Mammon squirms in his brother’s grip, but Lucifer shows no sign of releasing him. Trapped between Lucifer and a wall, Eleanor can’t escape either. 

“Then don’t drag me along with ya!”

“Eleanor, you’re coming along too. As long as we’re going to be in the human world, I imagine having one along with us will come in handy,” he says, still focused on the map and the dowsing pendant. The corners of his eyes crinkle when the crystal touches down against the map, his farcical smile cracking the rest of his face. “London.”

“No!” Mammon protests as Lucifer stands. Eleanor grabs the map and the pendant to make herself useful as Lucifer hustles Mammon out of the restaurant and into the street. “I’m not goin’ to the human world! You can’t make me!” He continues. Lucifer gives him a good shake, interrupting the whining.

“If you don’t shut up now, then once I’m back in my real body, I promise to string you up and hang you upside down for a thousand years,” Lucifer hisses; the threat loses some of the impact it has, coming from Satan’s mouth. But Mammon doesn’t seem to agree; he falls silent instantly, allowing himself to be yanked around and down a side street. They all come to a stop before a ring of gnarled trees.

“How do you get to the human world, anyway?” She asks, trying to think back to when she first appeared in the Devildom. But it had nothing to do with trees, she’s sure; one moment she’s standing in a dark alleyway, and the next she’s staring down demons.  _ Very little transition _ , she thinks wryly. 

“There are more than a few methods. The traditional way is to walk through all eight layers of the Devildom on foot, but that would take far too long, and,” he pauses to look at Eleanor. “I doubt your psyche would survive the trip. The second way is to be summoned by a witch or sorcerer. The third way—the method we will be using—is to use a magic seal.” Lucifer gestures towards the circle of dead trees. “There are thin spots between the worlds; these seals act as stoppers to ensure that only  _ approved _ individuals can enter or exit.”

“No witches, no witches, no witches, no witches,” Mammon mumbles under his breath as Lucifer reaches out for Eleanor with his free hand. She holds onto his arm tightly, not liking the idea of being left behind, alone in the Devildom. 

“All right, all right. We know you’re scared of witches, Mammon. Let’s get going.” And with that, Lucifer lays a hand against the rough, blackened back of the largest tree. Eleanor feels a tugging sensation around her throat and her vision fuzzes black at the edges. Breathing comes difficult, even as the darkness fades and she blinks up at the familiar lights of the Devildom. 

“Wait…” Lucifer starts, frowning deeply.

“What the hell! Why’d you scare me like that, huh?” Mammon deposits a light punch against his brother’s shoulder. “This ain’t the human world! We’re still in the Devildom!” Eleanor shoulders her bag and wonders if that means they’ll just go back to the House of Lamentation and try to wait out the spell. 

“It seems I can’t use the circle while I’m in Satan’s body. Without a mirror around, it’s easy to forget that I’m someone else right now…” There’s a sad, wistful twinge to his voice that has Eleanor patting his arm. 

“Then that’s that! No trip to the human world!” Mammon claps his hands together as if wiping the very idea away from his skin. “As for the speech, I’ll have a talk with Satan for ya tomorrow. ‘Course, my services aren’t free of charge. But don’t worry, I’ll give ya a family discount—”

“That  _ will not _ be necessary. I hate speeches. They’re a giant hassle, and I’ve got no intention of agreeing to give one.” Satan stands behind them, taking full advantage of the imposing figure Lucifer’s body cuts against the background of the Devildom city. 

“What’re you doin’ here?” 

Satan quirks an eyebrow at his brother. “What, is there something wrong with me being here? Either way, I heard everything you guys said. Come on, let’s get going.”

“Get  _ going? _ Wait, don’t tell me you actually want to  _ go _ —” Mammon starts to ask, aghast. 

“Don’t think this means I’ll owe you anything,” Lucifer bites out, prompting Eleanor to roll her eyes.  _ They are brothers after all, I guess... _

“I’d like to end this curse,” Satan explains easily. “I’ve gotten all the fun out of it I can.”

Lucifer harrumphs, but Eleanor thinks that he looks secretly pleased as Satan reaches out to grab all of them. The same darkness overtakes her vision, the same vice-like grip settles around her lungs—but this time she can feel the earth shift beneath her feet. And the sunlight breaking across her face feels as good at the fresh breath in her lungs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure that the hints of new lessons being dropped soon have me S T R E S S E D because I've got things set up for this fic that I'm afraid they'll knock down. Further full disclosure: if that happens, I'm going to marry the aspects as well as I can, but I might have to ignore some things. We'll see. It might not even be a problem.
> 
> Also, I'm toying with the idea of adding more smut but 1) I don't want to double dip just yet if you guys are against it and 2) I just... don't think I can write body-switch smut because #yikes and also Eleanor isn't there with either Lucifer or Satan yet anyway so.
> 
> transient aphasia hitting hard lately so hopefully!!! this!!! makes!!! sense!!!


	42. Fun in London

“Just where is this witch?” Satan asks once he’s oriented himself. Eleanor stands in the patch of morning sunlight she’s found, face to the sky, eyes closed, arms outstretched. The game world’s sun was an unfair tease; being in the real thing is much, much better after her weeks and weeks of deprivation in the Devildom. 

“We have to find her,” Lucifer explains, watching as Eleanor angles herself to best catch the rays like a sunflower. “Since you are here, Satan, perhaps you wouldn’t mind conducting the spell?”

Satan nods, considering his brother’s words. “I could. But the witch will have wards and protection magic to cloak her location; the counterspell will take a long time to set up.” Lucifer and Satan exchange a look. 

“Fine. I suppose we have no other choice.” But Lucifer doesn’t seem too put out as he leads them all down the main thoroughfare. Eleanor only opens her eyes when Satan tugs at her long sleeve to get her attention. She follows behind, trying to balance not looking like a tourist while also drinking in as many of the sights and sounds as she can. 

“Oooh,  _ look! _ ” She gasps, pointing like a child at the Ferris wheel off in the distance. But she keeps walking, even as she tugs at Satan’s arm to get his attention. “It’s the London Eye!”

“So?” He asks, not understanding what’s drawing such fascination from her. “It’s just a carnival ride.”

“Maybe! But it’s—oh, nevermind,” she huffs, her excitement spoiled. “I just thought it was neat.” Satan looks at the landmark and tries to find something special in it, but comes up empty. She’s amused by the strangest things—the black cabs, the way the streets wend and wind, even the modern bricks that make up some of the streets.

“They’re obviously not the original cobblestone,” he says, when she points to them. Undaunted, she only pouts up at him.

“I know that!” 

“I don’t see what’s so excitin’,” Mammon grumbles. “The Devildom has cobblestones. Ya don’t lose your mind over  _ those. _ ”

“Yeah, but—look, I  _ know _ the history of this place, at least a little. Shakespeare could have walked on this road! Ada Lovelace! Or, I dunno. Charles Dickens?” She tries to think of other Londoners and comes up almost empty. 

“You’re really weird, ya know that?”

“Oh, shut up. You love it,” she tells him offhandedly, already distracted by a double-decker bus hauling tourists around. Mammon sputters behind her as he stops in his tracks, the tips of his ears turning crimson. Lucifer catches where her excited smile is directed and frowns down at her.

“Absolutely not,” he says, heading that request off at the pass. She sticks her lower lip out at him in an exaggerated pout, but he only shakes his head, immune. “No. We’re going to get a room here,” he points up to a huge, glass-clad building facing the Thames, “Satan is going to set up his spell, and then we are going to find the witch and get this curse lifted.”

His words are firm and final, and even Mammon (mostly) resists the urge to pilfer something from the opulent lobby area. The receptionist hands over two keys to Lucifer, looking politely confused by the group.

“Lucifer…” Eleanor says when he leads them to the elevator and uses one of the keys to access a private suite.  _ Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it, _ she chants to herself, teasing grin already on her face despite her best efforts.

“Are you someone’s sugar daddy?”

_ Said it. _

Lucifer scowls at the elevator’s control panel, and Satan makes an exaggerated gagging noise beside her. Mammon, at least, laughs openly, howling as the doors slide shut behind them. 

“Don’t even  _ joke _ about that,” Satan tells her, sounding physically pained.

“Oh, come on! He just rented out an entire apartment suite at the drop of a hat!” Eleanor gestures to the climbing numbers on the display

“I have no desire to spend any amount of time here in cramped quarters with humans,” he says, managing to sound lofty and pouty at the same time. Eleanor snorts at his declaration.

“You’re spending time in ‘ _ cramped quarters’ _ with me, though, so I guess that didn’t pan out,” she points out. The look he shoots her she interprets as a warning; his eyes are sharp and intense and make her fall silent enough that when the elevator chimes, they all hear it. Eleanor takes the chance to escape the tense atmosphere and darts out into the hallway, bouncing on her heels as she waits for Lucifer to unlock their suite.

Satan claims the dining room table immediately, and Eleanor is almost overwhelmed by the fact that their space has an actual, full-sized dining table. She drops her bag somewhere beside the couch in the lounge area, claiming the seat to look out at the Thames. The morning sun—she’s not sure what the time difference is between the two realms, but knows that it has to be significant—startled her at first when she noticed it, but now she’s glad for the way it lights everything up so she can see it better.

The smell of something burning wafts over to her and she sneezes, yanked from her reverie by Satan’s spell failing. He’s grimacing over it , waving away the tiny cloud of smoke. 

“The long way, then,” he says grimly, and Lucifer deigns to sigh at the news. 

“Get it started. We can let it work and do some sightseeing, perhaps,” Lucifer says, looking up to see Eleanor poke her head up from over the backrest of the couch.

“Yes!” She throws a fist up into the air, feeling like she’s won some sort of victory. “Do you need any help?” Eleanor asks, scurrying over to the table to watch Satan work. He spares her a glance before turning back to his sigils.

“No.”

She pulls her hands away from the table, not wanting to interrupt his work.

* * *

They leave the hotel with Eleanor in particularly good spirits; she doesn’t care where they go, only that it’s somewhere she can  _ experience _ . She doesn’t even care when Mammon and Lucifer start arguing about something trivial—she leans over the concrete barrier to look into the Thames. 

“How does it feel to be back in the human world after so long?” Satan asks, leaning against the railing so he can study her face in the sunlight. “Does it make you want to return home?”

His question makes her look at him, and for some reason she’s still surprised to see Lucifer's face looking back at her.  _ I really should be used to this by now, _ she chides herself. And then she thinks about how out of place she must look beside him, her leggings and oversized sweater far too casual beside his tailored slacks. 

“Eh,” she says eventually with a shrug of her shoulders. “I mean, if I was back at my apartment, I’d probably be alone. And I  _ certainly _ wouldn’t be in London, so… I’m good, I think.” She worries her lower lip between her teeth and thinks harder about his question. “Actually, yeah. I’m glad I’m here with you.”

“If you’re worried about offending us, there’s no need to be,” he says, watching her face carefully for any tells. But his face is so curious and open in a way that’s all Satan that it makes her wonder if she’ll ever see Lucifer look the same way. “Still, I guess you  _ have _ managed to blend in perfectly among us demons. So, maybe you’re actually being honest.”

“Be still my beating heart,” she gushes, fluttering her eyelashes up at him as she presses her palms against her chest. “Was that a  _ compliment? _ ”

Lucifer’s face goes oddly slack and she wonders if she’s offended Satan; she’s never seen that expression on his own face, so she has no idea how to interpret it while he’s wearing Lucifer’s features. 

“You two,” Lucifer interrupts, bringing Eleanor’s attention back to himself as he points to a huge, closed-air market behind him. “As long as we’re in London, this is one place we really have to visit.” Eleanor looks up at it and shrugs, following him into the building.

“There sure are a lot of people,” Satan says, torn between interest and trepidation. Mammon makes a beeline for the first luxury store he sees, accosting the first store associate he sees; Eleanor follows behind, hoping that she can at least try to tempter whatever chaos he’s about to unleash.

“Yo!” He says. “Human! You work here, right?” The worker nods her head, clearly confused and a little afraid of how he’s just addressed her. “Well, I’ll take that entire outfit you’re got on the mannequin in your display window there! And the shoes, too.” He looks extremely pleased with himself as the poor girl scurries off, and he slings an arm around Lucifer, who has come to witness the damage. “And don’t worry about the money part! ‘Cause my older brother here is gonna take care of the payment. In  _ cash! _ Isn’t that right, my dear, sweet brother!” Mammon’s grip around his brother’s shoulders tightens with every word. The associate returns with a pile of clothes in her arms.

“I’m sorry, I have no idea who this person is,” he tells the girl with a shake of his head. “And also, I think he has a stupid face. Come along, Eleanor; you don’t want stupidity like that to rub off on you.”

_ Sorry, _ Eleanor mouths to the harried shop worker as Lucifer grabs her by the hand to pull her away, heedless of Mammon’s protests. They meet back up with Satan, who is holding a little paper cup in his hand.

“Check this out,” he tells them, holding out his gelato while pointing to the little stall he got it at.

“Ruby Tornado Gelato?” Lucifer reads out. “Looks good. I think I’ll try it.” Mammon rejoins them as Lucifer turns to order his own serving, and Satan scoops some of the gelato onto his spoon. He holds it out to Eleanor.

“Want a taste?” He asks, his eyes bright, lips teasing. Eleanor raises an eyebrow at him and the challenge he’s thrown down, then lets her lips curl into a smile of her own.

“Obviously,” she tells him, and then she leans forward to wrap her lips around his spoon, her hands clasped behind her back. She stands and swallows, licking her lips, a pensive expression gracing her face. “Pomegranate?”

“Sorry,” Lucifer says as he breezes back to Eleanor and Satan. “But I have no intention of buying gelato for a complete stranger.”

“But it’s me, Mammon! Y’know… Your sweet little brother! You love me, remember?!” Eleanor pretends not to notice when Lucifer slips Mammon a few pounds. She turns back to Satan to see that he’s staring at her, intently, and she’s even  _ more _ surprised to notice that it’s a look that she’s actually seen Lucifer himself wear before.  _ Shit. Did I piss him off? _ She wonders. 

“There’s a bookstore here I want to look at,” he announces, tossing his empty gelato cup into a nearby bin. Satan turns quickly on his heel and abandons his brothers and Eleanor. She blinks, watching him retreat, and then turns to look at Mammon and Lucifer; neither seem too concerned about Satan’s departure. 

She has to jog to even hope to keep up with his long strides, and eventually she finds him sequestered in the back of the bookstore, hidden in the antiques section.  _ I’m sorry, _ she opens her mouth to say, but she doesn’t get the chance.

“Look at this here,” he says, holding a book out in her direction. “It’s a first edition. You could never find a book this special in the Devildom—but not only do they have it here, it doesn’t even cost much. I can’t believe how cheap it is!” Eleanor shrugs.

“So get it. It’ll look nice in your room,” she tells him, half afraid to touch the book or its yellowed pages in case it holds a curse itself. He looks at her and she watches as his lips part slightly. 

And then Mammon shows up.

“Hey, Satan!” He shouts, drawing glances and glares from the surrounding patrons. Eleanor places a finger against her lips in an effort to get him to be quiet, but he ignores her completely. “Aren’t you done yet? C’mon, enough lookin’ at books! We’ve got places to be!”

Satan looks like he wants to murder Mammon, which is a familiar expression on Lucifer’s face. But he walks to the shop, book in hand, and follows them out with the delicate book carefully tucked in Lucifer’s coat. 

“It’s wonderful that you’re so excited to  _ get movin’ _ , but what are these ‘places to be’ anyway?” Lucifer crosses his arms and wears a wary expression.

“It’s someplace you can’t miss if you’re in London! Come on, don’t tell me I gotta spell it out for ya!” He throws his hands up into the air, and Eleanor is glad that they’ve left the marketplace because she’s sure he would have hit someone in the crowded area. His brothers only look at him, nonplussed, and so he turns to Eleanor. “All right. Seein’ as those two are so clueless, I guess we should explain that it is I’m talkin’ about. What’s the one thing you have to check out when you’re in London?” He asks, his hands on her shoulders. She looks around them as if the answer is hidden in the shrubbery or masonry of the surrounding buildings.

“Uh… Museums?” She asks hopefully. Mammon’s ecstatic smile falls from his face and he groans at her. 

“No! Uh, c’mon, that’s all wrong! If you’re in London, the one place you’ve gotta check out is Ascot Racecourse! Duh! We should go there, pick whatever horse looks like a real winner, and bet big on it. Then,  _ boom, _ we’ll watch the money come rollin’ in! It’ll be tons of fun!” Nobody seems to share Mammon’s sentiments. Even Eleanor can think of other things she’d rather do while in London, as much as she doesn’t want to tell that to Mammon.

“Come to think of it, I did pick up tickets to a matinee show at a theatre,” Satan says, fanning four tickets out for everyone to see. Eleanor takes one and holds it up for inspection.

“All right, why don’t we go check it out?” Lucifer asks, taking one of the tickets from Satan and completely ignoring Mammon.

* * *

The theatre is beautiful, and the soprano performing Violetta’s role is breathtaking, as is the rest of the opera. Eleanor watches, enraptured, following along with the pamphlet given to them when they first entered. The only thing marring the experience is Mammon’s sniffling to her side. 

“But… but it’s so awful, y’know?” He says, turning to Satan. “I mean, Violetta loves Alfredo so much—but she has to leave him! A-and she only did that to save him, and he’s bein’ a dick to her!” When Satan doesn’t respond with the same tears that Mammon has, he frowns. “How can you  _ not _ cry, huh? It’s too much!”

“... Satan, if you would please,” Lucifer says from the other end of their row.  _ At least this is happening during the intermission between the acts, _ Eleanor thinks, wanting to skip ahead in the pamphlet to see how the opera ends.

“Say no more,” Satan says with a smile, raising his fist and then bringing it down hard on the top of Mammon’s head. 

“Ugh!” Mammon grunts, rubbing the top of his head. “Ya didn’t have to hit  _ that _ hard!” Eleanor reaches out and runs a soothing hand up and down his back.

“Look, act three is starting. I’m sure they’ll end up together and it’ll end fine,” she says.

It doesn’t. 

The curtain closes on Violetta dead in Alfredo’s arms, which sends Mammon into another fit, which makes Lucifer hurry them all out of the theatre. They discover that the sun is starting to crawl down towards the horizon and that the London nightlife is starting to come out.

“Think your spell is done, Satan?” Eleanor asks, looking at the brilliant sunset. Satan shakes his head sadly.

“No way. Her wards are way too powerful; I’d say the tracking spell won’t work until the early morning at the earliest.”

“I’m confident we can find  _ some _ way to amuse ourselves,” Lucifer says, piling them all into a black cab. They go back to their suite, just for a moment, and Lucifer tells them to  _ dress to impress, _ which Eleanor rolls her eyes at.

“For  _ what, _ though?” She asks, holding her bag to her side.  _ Nowhere fancy, I hope, _ she thinks, trying to remember what she’d crammed in her bag earlier. Hastened by Lucifer’s desire to leave earlier in the day, she grabbed mostly random things from her closet and shoved them into her pack. He looks her up and down, a smile spreading slowly over his lips.

“Nightclub,” he tells her, and her face twists into a mask of confusion.

“ _ You _ want to go to a nightclub,” she states as if it’s an accusation. “Didn’t pin you for the type.”

“I would wager there is a  _ lot _ you do not know about me,” he tells her, and Eleanor swings her bag in front of her as a weak sort of defensive barrier against his intense gaze. The fact that it’s coming from Satan’s face doesn’t help her at all.

“I—I’m just—okay.” Her words stumble over themselves the same way she stumbles over her own feet as she retreats to one of the bedrooms to change, grateful that Asmodeus tampered with her wardrobe. But when she reemerges and Satan hails them another cab, Lucifer pays her no additional attention.  _ Did I… imagine that? _ She wonders as they make their way inside and to a booth at the back of the club. 

It isn’t as late as it could be, and so the venue isn’t as busy as it could be, but there’s still a crush of human bodies to move through. She claims the booth while the demons disappear, watching as they reappear with a round of drinks.

“They served you alcohol?” She asks, nodding to the pint in his hands. She wonders if they all have fake identification to blend in with the humans while they’re in the human world, or if he’s just charmed some poor bartender into a stupor. 

“How old do ya think I am, anyway?” Mammon asks, frowning at her. “I’ll have you know I’m  _ way _ over five thousand years old.  _ Way _ older!”

“... Five  _ thou _ —” she starts, flabbergasted, but she’s cut off by Lucifer raising his own glass.

“To London at night,” he says, and Satan follows close behind. 

“Cheers. I guess,” Mammon grouses, clinking his beer against his brothers’ drinks. 

“What’s wrong, Mammon? You sound like someone ran over your pet hellhound,” Satan says, fake pity woven through his tone. Mammon pulls a face at his brother.

“Shuttup, Satan. I’m still hurtin’ from the way you flattened me at the theatre.” He downs a good portion of his beer and then scowls at his brothers again. “Guess I’m just gonna have to get back at you by pullin’ a Beel. I’ll eat and drink as much as I can, and  _ you’ll _ be stuck with the bill.” This he directs at Lucifer. 

“That a lame way to get revenge,” he sighs, leaning down in his seat. But then he straightens, tilting his head to the side to hear their surroundings better. “Wait a minute… I know this song,” he says, putting his own drink down. 

“Yeah, it’s a good one,” Satan nods his head. Mammon slams his glass down onto the table so hard that Eleanor is afraid he might have broken something.    
“All right then, Eleanor,” he says, standing and grabbing her hand to pull her out of the booth. “Whaddya way you and me dance?” She’s halfway to her feet when Lucifer snakes an arm around her waist, pulling her back towards the booth.

“Yes,” he says into her hair. “What do you say we all head out onto the floor?” She pinwheels her arms in a desperate bid to keep her balance and ultimately fails, landing in Lucifer’s—or technically, Satan’s—lap.

“I dunno…” she demurs. “Don’t you think you’re all a little… Old for me?” She feels Lucifer shift underneath her and then she’s standing, his hands on her hips to steady her. His fingers flex against her hipbones when she tries to shift away from him. 

“Hey! What do you think you’re doin’?” Mammon asks, scowling at the way Lucifer still has his hands on Eleanor. “Why’re you two comin’ along, huh?”

“Well, it’ll be more fun if we all dance together, now won’t it?” Satan is standing now, and based on the glares being exchanged between the brothers, Eleanor is starting to rethink agreeing to going to a club with three demons. 

“Hey! No! Stay away!” Mammon pulls Eleanor flush against him, his arms crossed possessively in front of her. She’s just glad that he doesn’t announce that she’s  _ his human _ , not with so many other human witnesses who might question his vocabulary. 

“Behave yourself. If you don’t, there’s going to be a repeat of what happened in the theatre,” Lucifer threatens, and Mammon backs down the slightest bit. “You guys are ruinin’ my big night out in London with Eleanor.”

“You mean a night out with  _ me _ isn’t good enough for you?” She hears Satan bait Mammon as Lucifer pulls her out to the dance floor. 

“No, it’s not good enough!” Mammon roars; she can just barely hear him over the pounding music and the din of the crowd. She covers her mouth to stifle her giggle, even though she doubts anyone would be able to hear her. 

Lucifer guides them out to the center of the dancefloor and she turns so that she can at least see him. The multicolored lights rain down on them, casting his face in hues of blue and purple. 

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, here,” he says, and Eleanor gets the distinct feeling that he’s fishing for something. But one of his hands skims up her body from her hip to play with a lock of her hair. “Do you wish that you could stay here in the human world instead of going back?”

She pauses for a moment before he picks up her slack, manipulating her arms so they’re over his shoulders in a facsimile of a lover’s embrace.  _ Just what is it about today and demons asking if I’m going to run away the first chance I get? _

“I like London, but… I don’t wish I could  _ stay _ here,” she eventually says, and he pulls her close until her chest is flush against his. He leans down and nips at the tip of her ear.

“Good to hear; I wouldn’t allow you to, anyway. Why don’t we… relax, and enjoy this one night?” He abandons her hair to grasp one of her hands, flexing his fingers around hers while he slides his knee between her thighs, lifting his leg slightly until she has to stand on her toes to keep her feet on the floor. She gasps and squirms on him and he looks at her like he barely even notices.

“You’re a good dancer,” he tells her casually.

She swallows hard and tries to keep her hands to herself, as much as the dancing will allow her to. “You’re, ah,” she swears when he shifts his leg again and uses the hand he has on her hip to grind her down onto his leg, “better at this sort of dancing than I thought you’d be.  _ What are you doing, _ ” she hisses at him, squeezing his hand as if she could crush it. “We’re in the middle of, like, two hundred people.”

“Hmm? I’m not even properly touching you,” he says, leaning down so his breath ghosts against her ear.  _ Demons, _ she thinks, her toes curling at his insinuation. “I’m enjoying the night. Though I suspect it would be more enjoyable if I had my own body.”

The reminder of his situation hits her like a ton of bricks.

“No—I mean, yes— _ fuck _ ,” he draws out of her before she can shimmy off his leg. He reaches for her again and she spins away on uncertain legs until she’s just out of his reach. “You’re not  _ you _ ,” she accuses. “Don’t you think it’s a bit… weird?”

She’s glad the dancefloor is hot from the bodies of the people around them so she can’t miss  _ his _ warmth. He only shrugs at her.

“I take it you do,” he says, and she shoots him a glare but doesn’t back away when he approaches her again. She’s saved, bizarrely enough, by Satan; he approaches the both of them with a scowl on his face, and Eleanor’s heart almost stops in her chest.  _ He saw whatever…  _ that _ was and he's pissed about it _ , she worries.

“Mammon keeps stepping on my feet,” Satan complains, and Mammon is hot on his heels, tearing through the crowd.

“‘Cause I don’t want to dance with _ you, _ jackass,” he grinds out, holding a hand out for Eleanor. She takes it, glad that he, at least, is in his own body. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks rotten tomatoes*
> 
> Oh also, the opera they went to is La traviata because if Leviathan can have thematically-relevant media, then so can I.
> 
> ALSO also, this is this fic's two month-iversary. I wrote almost 140k in two months. When someone asks me what I did during quarantine I'm going to have to look them in the eyes and go "I wrote what amounts to a full length book about a mobile game I originally downloaded as a joke."


	43. Waystation

She holds her paper travel cup of coffee close to herself like it’s filled with liquid gold; as far as she’s concerned it is. It’s the first cup of coffee that hasn’t tasted like acrid swill to her in a good few weeks and she surprises herself by taking it black. 

“Why  _ is _ the coffee so different?” She asks, more to herself than any of the demons on either of her sides. Lucifer looks down at her, and she gestures to her drink. “Is it, like, the soil it’s grown in?  _ Your _ coffee is so… bitter,” she explains further when he doesn’t show any sign of understanding or interest in her plight. Their cab driver doesn’t have to know that she’s talking about the Devildom, so she at least attempts to be circumspect in her description.

“Is it?” He asks, humoring her. “I hadn’t noticed.” She huffs beside him and downs the last dregs. Caffeine is essential this morning, especially after their late night and early start. The dark circles under her eyes are not unexpected and she finds she doesn’t have the energy to deal with Lucifer’s teasing.

**Asmodeus:** Where are you?

She blinks down at her D.D.D.’s screen, wondering if she’s had service the whole time or not. She hadn’t bothered to check since they arrived in London, but then again… She’s been busy. 

“Selfie, everyone,” she says, taking advantage of the fact that they’re all crammed together in the back of a cab to get them all in frame. The fact that not everyone is smiling doesn’t bother her; she can’t imagine that would be an easy task. Before anyone else can protest, she sends the photo to Asmodeus. Immediately, her phone lights up with more messages. 

Lucifer settles with the cab driver as the rest of them climb out. 

**Asmodeus:** Well, don’t you look like you’re having fun?

**Asmodeus:** Listen, we’re going to be throwing a little party at Lucifugus’s place in a few days. Do you want to join us?

**«Sure»** she messages back.  **«I like parties.»**

**Asmodeus:** So do I. 🎶

**Asmodeus** And who knows, you might find yourself with a new partner at the end of it all! ❤️

She rolls her eyes fondly down at his messages and follows Satan and Mammon into the train station, weaving through the crowds of humans milling around. Lucifer follows closely behind once their car leaves. 

“Hey, look! Check it out! This place is selling official Harrison Porter and the World of Wizards Merchandise!” Mammon stays, lacing his fingers through hers. Eleanor lets herself get tugged along after him and watches his excitement build. “Wait… This is actually one of the locations where the movie was filmed, isn’t it? And  _ those _ are the same chocolate lizards they had in the movie! Oh, and this gum was in it, too! I can’t  _ not _ buy them now!” He picks up one of the little chocolate lizard keychains and spins it around his finger like it’s a toy. 

“And who exactly do you imagine is going to pay for that?” Lucifer asks, plucking the gum from Mammon’s grip and placing it back on the display stand. 

“Well you, of course!” Mammon tells his brother with a beaming smile. “Who else? I mean, it’s not like I’ve got any human world money on me?” He tugs one of his pockets inside out for effect.

“You never have any money, Mammon,” Satan says, shaking his head. “Regardless of the world you’re in.”

“Hey now. It’s not like I don’t got any money at all! I’m just always either savin’ it all up or spendin’ it like crazy. So I never have any on hand, that’s all!”

“You truly are a demon’s demon, Mammon…” Lucifer sighs, picking up one of the little keychains.

“Aww, come on. Eleanor, you totally want one too, right?  _ Right? _ ” He nudges her with his elbow and dangles the keychain in front of her face so she has to look at it cross-eyed. It’s a nostalgic little thing that she wouldn't necessarily have picked out for herself, but it  _ is _ cute, and the series  _ was _ a part of her childhood…

“I  _ do, _ ” she confesses.

“I knew it! C’mon, we’ll buy a matching pair,” Mammon crows, grabbing another keychain.

“Fine. I suppose I don’t have a choice…” Lucifer says, but Eleanor doesn’t miss the amused quirk to his lips or the way he hands enough money for four to the vendor.

“Wait a second, Lucifer, Why’re you buyin’ four? We only need two: one for me, and one for Eleanor.” He’s let go of her hand so that he can indicate himself then then point to her while still holding his own keychain. 

“There are four of us here,” Lucifer explains as if he’s speaking with a child, handing one of the little lizards over to Satan. 

“Wha? So now you, me,  _ and _ Satan are gonna have matching keychains? Ugh, that’s just gross. Why’s it gotta be like that?” Mammon complains, but he follows his brothers to the train all the same. 

“Well, Lucifer,” Satan says, reaching out for Mammon’s keychain as if he’s actually going to snatch it away. “It seems Mammon doesn’t want one. So, I guess we’ll only be needing three then. One for you, one for me, and one for Eleanor.” He points to each of them in turn, and Mammon clutches his keychain protectively to his chest.

“No, wait, I do want one! I totally do!” He drops it into his pocket so that Satan can’t reach it and follows them onto the train. But he’s still pouty when they make it to the private cabin that Lucifer booked. She reaches out to hold his hand again, to give him whatever reassurance she can. 

Satan continues to poke around at his spells—the intricacies of which fly above Eleanor’s head—so she takes one of the seats by the window beside Mammon and watches the city pull away from them once the train stirs to life. He runs the pad of his thumb across her knuckles and she squeezes his hand in response. 

Until he remembers that they have an audience and he stiffens, sliding his hands away and out of hers. She sighs and considers resting her head against the window, but its rattling doesn’t seem like it would make that comfortable of a pillow. 

“Check it out! Sheep… Real live sheep! There’s a whole flock of ‘em! Bet they taste good,” he adds as an afterthought, leaning over Eleanor so that his face is almost pressed to the glass of the window. 

“Mammon, quit shouting every time you see something interesting. You’re embarrassing us.” Eleanor raises an eyebrow at Satan’s statement; they’re the only ones in the cabin, and she doubts that Mammon had been loud enough for people outside of it to hear. 

“It seems I made the right choice reserving a private cabin for us,” Lucifer agrees with Satan, and Mammon pouts at their words. 

“By the way, they’ve got a place where you can go and eat on this train, right? What was it called again… the dining car? I’m gonna take some pictures and then brag about it to Beel when we get back to the Devildom—back in a minute!” He dashes out of their cabin, phone in hand, and Eleanor pinches the bridge of her nose. Without Mammon there, the cabin is much quieter… And much less energetic. Neither Lucifer nor Satan make any move to talk about anything, and Eleanor finds herself growing uncomfortable in the silence. Neither one of the remaining brothers makes eye contact with each other. 

“... So,” Lucifer says after a while, just as Eleanor is considering taking a nap on the bed Lucifer has so generously paid for. “Would you say this is similar to what’s known as a family trip in the human world?”

Eleanor can’t tell if he’s asking her or Satan; he looks at both of them in turn, and all Eleanor can do is shrug.  _ Family vacations aren’t usually kicked off by a curse, I think _ . Satan comes to sit next to her, taking Mammon’s abandoned seat. 

“Maybe, yeah. You know, the view out the window is nice,” Satan says, and when silence falls again it’s much more companionable.  _ At least they’re not antagonizing each other _ , she thinks in relief, leaning against the back of her seat. The train is smooth on the tracks and she finds it easy to close her eyes and try to catch up on some of the sleep she missed.

And then a scream rings through the air. She sits up, eyes wide, and glances at Satan and Lucifer. 

“Someone call the crew!” They hear a man’s voice call out, muffled through the cabin walls. “A woman’s been stabbed!” Lucifer, being closest to the cabin door, stands and opens it. The stranger’s voice is louder then, when they next speak. 

“The guy who did it… He was young! He had white hair, and tan skin, and he was wearing sunglasses! He’s the one who did it! He’s the one who… Who stabbed her to death!” Eleanor knows that someone is dead, and it’s been done in a brutal manner, but she can’t help but to think that the speaker is being just a touch melodramatic. 

“A young guy with white hair and tan skin, wearing sunglasses…?” Lucifer repeats the stranger’s words, his upper lip curling into a sneer of disdain. Satan and Lucifer make eye contact, and Satan shakes his head; that’s all it takes for the both of them to leave the cabin, thunderously angry. Eleanor follows at their heels, trying to keep up with their long strides. 

The source of the commotion is easy to find, being only a few cabins away in one of the seating trains. Surprisingly, only a few people are in the car; if anyone else heard the chaos, they elected to ignore it. Mammon stands there, both of his arms held back by the two human men on either side of him. A woman sits slumped in her chair, face ashen as she stares at the body under the table.

“Let’s hear it,” Lucifer demands, a scowl on the face he’s currently wearing. 

“Whatddya mean,  _ let’s hear it? _ ” Mammon whines “I didn’t do anythin’!”

“What did you do this time, Mammon?” Satan asks, adopting the way Lucifer crosses his arms with an uncanny similarity. Eleanor frowns at Satan and Lucifer— _ that’s your brother, _ she wants to tell them, _ are you really so eager to think he’s just murdered someone? _

“He killed her!” The first man says. His bright, multicolored shirt is a stark contrast to the situation, and Eleanor recognizes his voice as the one that initially cried out. “He stabbed her with a knife!”

“You three, are you with this man?” The second human man looks at the three of them suspiciously.

“Yeah,” Eleanor says immediately, before she can let herself think about her response at all.  _ Besides, I don’t know if Lucifer or Satan will actually stand up for him… And what happens if a demon gets arrested…? _ She doesn’t want to find out. 

“Well,  _ I’m _ not, personally…” Satan says, nudging Eleanor’s shoulder with his arm as if to say  _ way to go, human. _

“Neither am I. In fact, I’ve never seen him before in my life.” Lucifer says the words easily, confirming Eleanor’s fears that they’d leave their brother out for the wolves to find. 

“Hey! You two are  _ evil _ , ya know that? Seriously, is Eleanor the only one who’ll stand up for me?” He shoots her a pleading look and all she can do is shrug at him apologetically.  _ They should at least try to get to the bottom of everything before they totally give up on him… _

“You’re a magnet for trouble. Everywhere you go, it follows. You need to stop this…” Lucifer says, and Eleanor isn’t quite sure what, exactly, it is that Lucifer wants Mammon to stop. 

“Stop what?! I’m an innocent bystander here!” Mammon protests, making the two men holding him back grip him tighter. Eleanor feels both Lucifer and Satan at either one of her shoulders, stalwart reminders that even though they claimed not to know him, they haven’t left yet. 

“You’d better tell us what happened… And start at the beginning,” Satan says, weary and already over the situation. The humans on Mammon’s sides still haven’t let him go, but Eleanor is relieved to see that they at least seem interested in what he has to say. 

“Well, y’know, I went to go find the dining car, but then I was blocked by this door,” he indicates the door that they’ve all walked through, “that said ‘no admittance,’ but I ignored that. So I walked in, and it was all dark, and these three,” he gestures to the humans, “were listenin’ to that one,” he gestures to the dead woman on the floor, “chant some bullshit. So I asked what they were doin’, and then they all started screamin’, and the dead one said my name, and  _ they _ decided that meant I killed her.”

“... Just how much of an idiot  _ are _ you?” Lucifer asks, scowling at his brother. One of the human men nods his head, agreeing with Mammon’s statements. 

“A pretty big one, that’s for sure,” Satan answers Lucifer’s question. Eleanor rubs her temples, wishing that they wouldn’t do this in front of the witnesses. 

“Hey! These people are treatin’ me like some sorta criminal, y’know! So how about you defend me here, huh?”

Lucifer reaches out and grabs Mammon by the collar, dragging him away from the humans attempting to hold him hostage. “You never think before you act. That’s why you’re always getting yourself into these situations, you complete and utter moron.” 

“None of this would have happened if you hadn't insisted on telling them your name. But being that total fool that you are, you just  _ had _ to, didn’t you?” Satan follows Lucifer’s lead, and Mammon sniffles. 

“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just bad luck,” Eleanor says, trying to be the moderating voice in between all of the accusations. He latches onto her and she stiffens, surprised at the sudden contact, before she pats his back reassuringly. Lucifer only sighs deeply. 

“You’re so nice, Eleanor. It’s like someone took my heart and shattered it, like it was made of glass. But here you come to the rescue, bein’ all nice. Really gets to me. Those  _ other two, _ ” Mammon glares up at his brothers. “They’re  _ evil! _ You’re the only one who’s kind to me…”

_ Damn it, _ she thinks, feeling herself slipping further and further away from the casual attractions he’s tried—and failed—so desperately to maintain. She hugs him tighter until she feels Satan’s hand on the back of her head, and then realizes that means it’s actually Lucifer.    
“Eleanor, I don’t know why you’re coming to his defense, but stop. You’re only encouraging him, and he’s annoying enough as it is. And as for  _ you, _ ” Lucifer rounds on Mammon. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re a demon, Mammon. Which makes you evil as well.” Eleanor shifts, uncomfortable that Lucifer is admitting to being a demon right in front of the humans. 

“You don’t gotta be mean!” Mammon snaps, and Eleanor turns in his hold so that she’s facing Lucifer and Satan. 

“Well, regardless, we’re going to have to do  _ something _ about this situation. I mean…” She pauses, searching for something to motivate Lucifer. “It might get back to Diavolo, you know? And that would be… Not good, right?” Lucifer looks down at her, but she can tell that he’s at least considering her words. 

“As if we needed  _ another _ problem to deal with…” Lucifer sighs.

“Only one version of events is ever true!” Satan pipes up, looking incredibly pleased with himself. Eleanor looks at him and tilts her head to the side, confused; based on everyone else’s reactions, she doubts they have any more insight into his seemingly-nonsensical words. “It’s a line from ‘The Mid-Fall Murders,’ a human world crime suspense series. That was the lead character Inspector Adler’s famous catchphrase. ‘The perpetrators had best give themselves up now while they still have the chance. Because I  _ will _ find them.’” Satan completes his quotation by striking what Eleanor assumes is Inspector Adler’s signature pose. The grin on his face stretches wide. “I never thought the day would come when I’d actually get to say that in real life…”

“I’m not sure I completely understand what this is about, but I can tell you’re motivated, and that’s what’s important.” And even though it’s in the worst possible situation, Eleanor is somewhat glad to see that Lucifer is humoring Satan and his interests. Their assembled audience, however, is not.

“You three—knock it off! This is not time to be making jokes! This man is the killer, and we’ll hand him over to Scotland Yard at the next station—”

“I think all of you should sit down and wait at the other end of this carriage. Do not worry about any of this.  _ Goodbye, _ ” Lucifer says, slowly and evenly and Eleanor  _ recognizes _ that tone because he’s used it on her before.  _ Or tried to _ , she thinks grimly, turning to see the way the humans’ faces go slack and a dreamy look crosses their faces. 

“... Right, good idea,” one of the men says. “We’ll let you guys handle it. Okay, everyone. Let’s go to the dining car.” And without a word of protest, the man’s two companions turn and follow him out of the car. Eleanor shudders, remembering what it felt like to have him crawling around in her head

“No need to worry,” Satan says, catching her reaction. “Lord Diavolo has explicitly forbidden anyone from compelling you like that… Not that it works on you, in any event.” He looks at her curiously, as if he’s just recalled her strange resistance to his compulsion and Asmodeus’s charm. His reassurance doesn’t offer her much comfort. 

“Wait a minute,” Lucifer says, stepping forward and leaning down to see the cooling corpse of the woman. Eleanor hasn’t been able to bring herself to get any closer, so she is happy to let him take the lead. “This woman… The murder victim—”

“Didn’t even have a knife on me,” Mammon mutters, and Satan shoots him a poisonous glare.

“This is Grisella. I’m certain of it; this is the witch we were supposed to be going to see.” Lucifer twists his lips into a strained grimace. He stands to Satan’s full height and turns to face them all again. 

“So that’s why she said your name,” Satan says, and Mammon throws his hands up into the air in exasperation. 

“I’m innocent! That’s what I keep sayin’!”

Lucifer gestures to the body. “She was stabbed in the back. The knife is still there,” he adds distastefully. 

“Only one version of events is ever true,” Satan whispers. And then in a louder voice, he adds “as soon as Mammon entered the room, everyone turned to face him; because the knife is in her back, the culprit had to have been someone at the table.”

“You do have a point…” One of the men pipes up, but he still holds the vacant expression over his face. 

“And whoever did this is still hiding somewhere on this train… We have to seal off this lounge until we reach the next station, now that we’ve cleared Mammon’s name, of course,” he adds, and Mammon sighs in relief. “We should all retire to our cabins for now.”

The three enspelled humans all stand on cue and walk towards their own assigned seats. With nothing else to do but to follow her demons, that is exactly what Eleanor does. Back in their own cabin, Mammon flops onto the bed with a groan. Lucifer shakes his head and sighs as if he’d just been accused of murder himself. 

“Hey, why the sad look? You know we’ve proven I’m innocent now, right? I mean, I know it must’ve been a real shock ‘cause your sweet brother was treated like a criminal and all… But still…”

“If Grisella is dead, that means that we can’t lift the curse that caused us to switch bodies. And if we cannot lift the curse, then we wasted this trip to the human world. In addition to that, the speech is coming up…”

“Weren’t you worried about me?” Mammon frowns, sitting up on the bed. “Let’s see some concern, dammit!” There’s a pillow in his hand and he’s ready to launch it at his brother, but a flickering movement in the far corner of his cabin catches his eye. 

“Oh, this is just  _ wonderful, _ ”the flicker says as it forms into a definable shape; Eleanor jumps back as a woman materializes in their cabin, right in the chair she’d just been about to claim for herself. “What a miserable state to be in. Here I am in the company of three demons, all of whose names I know, and yet…” she gestures to herself with a partially translucent hand.

“I know that voice,” Lucifer says, but he doesn’t make any move to get any closer. “Grisella. Or rather, Grisella’s spirit.” He nods in her direction, and Eleanor takes hesitant steps backwards until she’s safely put Satan between herself and the spirit. 

“It does seem you’re right, unfortunately,” the spirit says with a dramatic sigh, draping her legs over the arm of the chair. 

“ _ ‘It does seem you’re right’? _ Like… You’re a  _ witch! _ You’re supposed to be able to see the future and know when you’re gonna die! Did you even bother to check?” Mammon sputters, incredulous. Eleanor peeks out from behind Satan to take another look at Grisella. 

“I knew that I would die at  _ some _ point during my tri[ on this train, yes. But I didn’t know  _ how _ I would die, only that I would. When It’s time to die, it’s time to die. There’s no changing that. There’s no cheating death,” she adds ominously, turning her hollow eyes to Eleanor. Just as quickly, she looks away. “I accept my fate. However, I would like to know  _ why _ I was killed before I rest.” 

Eleanor decides that she doesn’t need to look at the spirit anymore, not when it seems like the witch can look right through her to see every thought Eleanor has ever had. 

“And you’re telling us this because…?” Lucifer prompts, tapping his foot against the floor in impatience. 

“Because I know why you came here,” the witch points out. 

“I see,” Lucifer says, and then he looks to his brothers and Eleanor. “We’re going to figure out who it was that killed Grisella.” His announcement draws a groan from Mammon and a nod from Satan. Eleanor, while happy to help someone, is quickly discovering that she does not like being in the presence of actual ghosts. 

“What? That sounds like a bunch of work! Why do we gotta do somethin’ like that?” Mammon complains, earning him a glare from everyone else—living and dead—in the cabin. Lucifer’s fingers twitch as if he’d very much like to throttle his brother. 

“Eleanor, explain to this idiot why it is that we have to cooperate with Grisella.” Lucifer is throwing her a bone and she knows it. 

“Because we want to lift the curse, Mammon,” she tells him, taking the opportunity to walk even further away from Grisella. “If we help her, then she’ll help us. And as for work…” she thinks back to the three humans who’d been with Grisella at the time of her murder. “It has to be one of the three with her, right?”

Satan and Lucifer listen carefully as Grisella explains who her companions were; Lucas and Sophia are siblings, hoping to contact their dead sister. They are also the reason Grisella was holding a seance in the first place—it was this seance that Mammon stumbled upon. Noah is the man wearing the garish shirt; she explains that he hoped to become her apprentice, and was her connection to Lucas and Sophia. 

“So then,” Satan says, cracking his knuckles. “I guess we only need to torture each one of them separately until we find out answer.”

“Yes, that shouldn’t take long at all,” Lucifer agrees, a serene smile on his face.

“Okay then!” Mammon bounces to his feet. “So, which of those humans should we torture first?” Eleanor’s mouth drops open.

“Woah! Woah, no! We don’t have to jump to violence right away!” Eleanor protests, raising her voice.  _ If Lucifer thought Mammon being a murder suspect was troublesome, just what does he think torturing three people will be? _

“Well, what do we have here?” Grisella asks, standing and sliding closer to the lone living human in the room, pretending to have just noticed her. “You’re human, aren’t you?” Eleanor swallows and forces herself to maintain eye contact with the ghost’s empty, pale eyes.

“Do you remember being stabbed?” She asks, her voice too tight and squeaky, even to her own ears.

“Of course I do,” Grisella snaps. “It entered right here,” she says, indicating the location on her back where the knife had been stuck. “And it felt like it entered from below.”

“Okay,” Eleanor says. “Thank you. Mammon, what did you see when you entered? How did people act? ...Excluding Grisella, I guess.”

“Eh…” He pauses and scratches the back of his head. “It was real dark in there. But the girl was sittin’ farthest away. The two guys were right behind Grisella. But the flashy guy stayed sittin’ the whole time,” he adds with a wrinkle of his nose. Eleanor can’t tell if it’s the murder or the man’s fashion sense that offends him the most.

“That would be Noah,” Grisella interjects. Eleanor looks at the spirit and frowns at her.

“Well, then… I mean, I’m not an expert or anything, but… Isn’t it sort of obvious who your murderer is?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! I actually tried to plot out whereabouts they MIGHT have gone in London based on the backgrounds provided.  
> Greenwich Market looked like it might be a likely candidate--they even have a book stall that looks really fun! It's a closed-air market (at least partially) so that checks out.  
> The Royal Opera House actually had a recent La traviata production, so that's fun!  
> There is actually a hotel I placed them at based on these locations and its proximity to the Thames (which is, I'm assuming, the river in the background of those scenes) but I don't want to name it because that feels weird.  
> The Caledonian Sleeper is a train that goes between London and Scotland, and while it looks nothing like the game train (surprise) it DOES have blue seats and swanky private cabins.
> 
> Basically what I'm saying is London Office of Tourism, sponsor me. (Also, my Google search suggestions are really weird now.)


	44. Return to Normal

Satan looks at her, a small frown tugging his lips down.

“Is it?” He asks, the same time Lucifer looks at her and incredulously asks “are you serious?” Eleanor nods her head and glances at Grisella again, but she can’t stand to look at the spirit for too long. 

“Well, all right then!” Mammon says, clapping his hands together once. “Let’s go find this person and get to torturin’!”

“No!” She says immediately, and all three demons look at her sharply. “I mean… No. We’re in the human world. We should do this the human way.” Mammon shakes his head and Satan looks intrigued, but it’s Lucifer who nods.

“... All right, then. Agreed. We’ll do it your way. What do we do first, Eleanor?”

Grisella looks between the human and Lucifer, a delighted smile lighting up her face. Eleanor shifts uncomfortably, unnerved by the intent way the spirit studies her. Lucifer places a hand on her shoulder and she looks back at him, grateful again for the distraction. 

“Can we get the three of them here? We can try to… mitigate any potential damage,” she says, and Lucifer nods.

“Satan and Mammon, you two go and get Noah; I’ll get the two siblings and bring them here.” Mammon grumbles something but follows Satan out of the cabin without any further complaint; with a final glance between Eleanor and Grisella, Lucifer leaves as well. Eleanor picks at the rumpled blanket on the bed, trying not to stare at the spirit in the corner of the room. 

“You there,” Grisella says eventually, imperiously calling Eleanor’s attention to herself. “Eleanor was it? I have to say, I’m surprised. I never expected Lucifer, of all demons, to listen to a human… But that’s what he did.” Grisella smiles like a self-satisfied cat as she leans forward in the chair she’s claimed, and Eleanor fights the urge to bolt. “He clearly trusts you, doesn’t he?”

Eleanor opens her mouth to say something but then closes it with a snap, not wanting to give the spirit any additional ammunition.

“But know that nothing lasts forever,” the spirit warns with a smile. “Sometime in the near future, he will lose every last ounce of trust he puts in you now.”

At this, though, Eleanor has to shake her head.

“I’m not calling you a liar,” Eleanor tells her slowly, trying to choose her words carefully. “But… I have to disagree with you; I don’t think he actually trusts me all that much.”  _ Which is an understatement _ , she thinks.  _ Considering just last night he was convinced that I was going to run away. _

“Whether you believe me or not is up to you; I’m simply telling you the future that I see for you,” Grisella says lightly. “ _ Do _ be careful.” And then she settles back in her chair and smiles at the door as it opens, like she hasn’t said anything at all.

“You know, maybe we should let Scotland Yard sort through all of this…” Lucas says as he’s dragged by the arm into the cabin. Lucifer spares him a haughty glance, but it’s Noah that responds furiously.

“I’m not interested in playing along with this little game of yours,” Noah spits, but Satan keeps a tight grip on the back of his collar. All three of the humans are deposited at Eleanor’s feet, and she extends a hand to help Sophia up; it’s Noah and his caustic anger that she wants to stay away from.

“Well, go on,” Lucifer says with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Time for you to show us this  _ human way _ you spoke of.”

“Only one version of events is ever true!” Satan quotes, still looking extremely pleased with the opportunity the situation has presented him with. “Isn’t that right, Eleanor?”

She nods once, looking at everyone assembled in front of her. To buy herself some time and try to steel her nerves, she clears her throat. Finally, she can’t put it off anymore.

“Noah,” she says, pointing at him, and Mammon’s grip tightens on the human’s upper arm. 

“Are you insane?” The man spits furiously. “I respected and admired Grisella! I wanted to become her apprentice! Do you have some sort of proof to back up this asinine accusation of yours?” Eleanor’s eyes flick over to where Grisella still sits, but none of the other humans seem to notice her at all. 

“Ugh, I can’t just sit here and watch this. Eleanor, allow  _ me _ to take over from here!” Satan says to her, and she steps aside so that he can have him limelight. “Noah,  _ you _ are the killer! You and you alone!” Satan points at the man theatrically. 

“Again, where’s your proof?” Noah tries tugging his arm from Mammon’s grip, but is unsuccessful. 

“You were the only one to remain seated. The handle of the knife was found at an angle indicating the perpetrator was lower than her. And so… _ Only one version of events is ever true! _ ”

“Stop saying that with my face,” Lucifer snaps, embarrassed by his brother’s antics. 

“The killer is the one person who  _ didn’t _ stand up! Noah!” Satan concludes with a flourish. Grisella stands and ambles over to Noah, looking at him curiously as he shrieks in anger. She holds his face in her ghostly hands; he doesn’t seem to feel her touch at all, and when his tears start to fall, they slide right through her fingers.

“It’s true,” he finally admits. “I did kill her! But I did admire her… truly! She had  _ true _ power, but she refused to take me on as an apprentice! She had no faith in me!”

“What were you thinking?” Sophia asks, recoiling from her companion. Eleanor can’t blame her; she doesn’t want to be trapped in the cabin with Noah either.  _ At least I know he’s not escaping Mammon _ , she thinks. 

“So you hated her ‘cause of somethin’ stupid like that?” Mammon asks, giving the man a good shake. “Pfft, just like a human.”

“Noah did once tell me that he used to be a knife-thrower in a circus act,” Grisella says, leaning towards the man, and Eleanor fights the urge to roll her eyes.  _ That would have been nice to know from the start. _ “Please tell him that I didn’t take him on as an apprentice because I knew that my time was coming, will you?” The spirit asks, directing her words at Eleanor. Mammon pauses, one hand on the cabin door, the other still holding Noah by the back of his neck. 

“Um,” Eleanor starts. “Grisella was… gifted. Maybe she didn’t accept you as an apprentice because she knew her time was coming?” She phrases it like it’s a question, not sure if the human should be let in on the fact that a spirit is in the room with them. Noah only looks at her miserably as Mammon drags him from the room; his two other human companions follow after him, intent on keeping an eye on him until the next station. 

“That was a real pain in the ass,” Mammon groans when he returns, slamming the cabin door shut behind him. “If you ask me, you made the right choice in not takin’ him on,” he tells Grisella, throwing a dirty look over his shoulder in the general direction of where he deposited the humans. Grisella only sighs at the demon’s words, and she doesn’t point out the irony inherent in the situation.

“Grisella, you’ve gotten what you wanted,” Satan points out, and the spirit nods slowly.

“Yes, and I’ll keep my promise to you. But first… Satan. There’s something I want to say to you. I have that book to you because I knew it would be a catalyst for change in your relationship with Lucifer, though that’s not what you wanted back then.” Satan’s lips curl into a grimace of disdain at the spirit’s words.

“No, and that is exactly why I made sure to stay away from it. And yet, for all my effort…” He gestures to himself and the unfamiliar body he’s wearing. Grisella only laughs.

“Well, you can’t change fate! All you can do is accept it, even if you  _ are _ a demon. You must endeavor to make the best of the hand fate deals you, no matter what it may be. Always remember that,” Grisella tells them, and she claps her hands together at her last word. Eleanor can feel the magic reverberate around the cabin, and it makes the little hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. 

“It’s about time,” Lucifer says, looking down at his hands. And this time, Eleanor thinks it actually  _ is _ Lucifer in his own form. 

“We’re ourselves again,” Satan sighs, confirming Eleanor’s suspicions. Her shoulders sag in relief.  _ At least that’s done with, _ she tells herself as Grisella fades away without so much as a goodbye. 

“Time to go home,” Lucifer says without preamble, grabbing each of his brothers and Eleanor in quick succession. Before she can prepare herself for the sensation again, Eleanor’s vision darkens and the air is squeezed from her lungs. When she blinks her eyes back open, she finds herself staring at the gates of the House of Lamentation. Lucifer drops her bag at her feet; she hadn’t even noticed him grabbing it.

“You  _ had _ to get me caught up in this problem of yours, huh? I went through hell for you guys, you know…” Mammon grumbles. Despite his words, he’s happy to have his brothers back in their proper places. “I’m not gonna be happy until I get a reward for everything I’ve done. A  _ serious _ reward, considerin’ how much of my time and precious brainpower I had to put into this. I”m not gonna say you have to give me cash, but—”

“Satan,” Lucifer interrupts, not paying Mammon any attention. “I want you to give the speech.” 

“Me? Satan asks, also ignoring Mammon. “But that speech is supposed to be given—”

“By the chosen representative of the student council officers, yes. I know I can trust you to fulfill that role. Are you going to refuse?” Lucifer asks, sounding like he’s daring Satan.

“Refuse?” Satan scoffs. “You must be kidding. By the time I’m done, Lord Diavolo won’t be able to stop gushing about what an amazing speech I gave. And how it was even better that anything you could have done.” _ Can’t resist throwing a little bit of an insult in there, I see, _ Eleanor notes, patting Mammon on the shoulder as he complains about being ignored. Lucifer snorts.

“Well, you’re certainly setting the bar high. I look forward to seeing you deliver on that.”

* * *

“They’re back in their own bodies,” is how Eleanor greets Belphegor as she sits down in front of her door, knees close to the bars that keep him locked up. Her mood is buoyed by the fact that Lucifer and Satan are back in their own bodies, and they’re not even fighting about anything. Not even when Mammon continued to demand payment for his services. The commotion of their return gave her enough of a cover to sneak up to the attic to share the news. 

… And eat some of the mangoes she smuggled back from the human world away from Beelzebub. She brought back enough to share, with Lucifer’s blessing (and money) but, just for a moment, she thinks she wants to be a little selfish. She slides the blade of the knife around the mango, peeling back the skin with the blunt edge of the blade, dropping the chunks she cuts off into a little bowl.

“Pity,” Belphegor says as he watches her work. “I would have liked Lucifer to be inconvenienced for a little longer.” Eleanor only shrugs, not wanting to chastise his words; after all, Lucifer  _ did _ lock him up. She thinks he’s entitled to be a little disgruntled.

“Lucifer and Satan are even getting along… Sort of,” she amends, doubting that they’d ever actually become as close as friends.  _ But at least Satan isn’t trying to slip poison into Lucifer’s drinks anymore. _ She can settle for that. Then she indicates the bowl between her knees with the knife, wanting to change the topic. “Want some?”

She prepares to cut up the other mango she brought just for him, but he scowls at her.

“I won’t be treated like a child,” he tells her, and she shrugs, dropping the mango, and little paring knife in the second bowl she’s brought. 

“Suit yourself,” she says with a shrug, sliding everything to him between the cracks of the door. He only stares at it for a moment before setting to work on it himself. She licks some of the juice off her fingers, wishing she thought to brough something to clean her hands with. 

“You really  _ do _ like getting yourself into other peoples’ business,” he comments, and she can’t tell what thought of his prompted the commentary. 

“I like being useful,” she corrects. 

“To prove that you should be allowed to exist?” He asks with a sardonic grin, and she feels like he’s just punched her in the chest.

“Don’t be an asshole,” she tells him cheerfully, even though his words strike far too close to the truth. Because even though she tells herself she’s moved on, she still remembers the late nights studying, hoping that if  _ maybe _ she gets perfect grades her foster family will turn into a real family, that they’d let her  _ stay _ . Remembers how she tried to always be the perfect daughter, only to feel she’d failed, somehow, when it came time to move again. 

She curls her hands into fists and leans back on them, studying the strange demon in front of her. 

“What’s your problem with me, anyway? I’m trying to help  _ you _ , in case you’ve forgotten. I'm not asking you to make me a friendship bracelet or anything, but you could, maybe, sometimes at least hide your contempt.”

“As a demon, humans are beneath me,” he tells her like she’s an idiot for even asking the question. He pops a mango chunk into his mouth and dares her to contradict him with her eyes. 

“Except that without the help of a  _ human _ , you’d be stuck here without any hope of being freed at all,” she points out to him, and he narrows his eyes at her. “Don’t worry, I’m not quite petty enough to go back on my promise because you hurt my feelings. But knock it—”

She pauses mid-sentence and tilts her head to the side, sure she’s just heard her name being called. Belphegor confirms it.

“You’re being summoned,” he tells her dismissively. “Better run along.”

“Shut up,” she tells him without any fire behind her words as she scrambles to her feet. It’s not Lucifer, at least, that’s calling her; she can tell that much just by the tone. She waves goodbye to Belphegor quickly as she takes the stairs down two at a time, hoping to put distance between herself and the attic before anyone catches her.

* * *

She sits between Diavolo and Mammon at one of the larger tables Ristorante Six has, wondering if she should be uncomfortable at all by the scenario. Lucifer sits at Diavolo’s other side, so she can’t feel too much like she’s taken his place.  _ Still… what a weird thing for Diavolo to insist on… _

Lucifer holds up his glass for a toast, and everyone else follows suit.

“Here’s to lifting the curse that had Lucifer and me in each other’s bodies,” Satan says, taking the words from Lucifer’s mouth. 

“Cheers,” Diavolo says happily, cracking the rim of his glass against Lucifer’s. An air of joviality winds through the table; they’re the loudest ones in the restaurant by far, with everyone breaking off into smaller conversations vying to be heard, but nobody quite has the heart to tell the prince to keep his party down. 

“You know,” Diavolo says to her after a round of laughter breaks out through the table. “I’ve never seen Lucifer look quite so relaxed. We have you to thank for this, Eleanor… Among other things.” She puts down her glass and looks at him quizzically, not sure what the  _ other things _ are. 

“I don’t know about that,” she demurs. “I was mostly just along for the ride.”

“Lucifer told me that you’ve been a big help this past week,” he says. “And it’s resulted in him feeling confident enough to let Satan give his speech, so I find myself inclined to agree. Clearly, we made the right choice in selecting you to come to the Devildom as our exchange student.”

She remembers Belphegor’s words from just a few hours ago about humanity and feels a frown tugging at her lips.

“How  _ did  _ you make the selection, anyway?” He’s in a good mood and she can’t see any reason why the information would need to be private.

“Oh! To be honest, I wasn’t actually the one who chose you,” he confesses, and his golden gaze lands on Lucifer. “There was a huge stack of papers listing countless candidates for the program, and out of all of them, Lucifer picked you. I simply gave my approval, that’s all.” He claps a huge hand on her shoulder and laughs, drawing Lucifer’s attention. She thinks for a moment that she sees Lucifer look their way, his eyes narrowed slightly.

But whatever is on his mind is pushed out of the way when Mammon pops the cork of a bottle of champagne he’s just shaken up, sending a spray of fizzy alcohol all over the table. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's where I officially stick my middle finger up at the canon of the game! We'll circle back around to where it picks up after the dinner a little later, but we have a detour to take, first. 
> 
> You might have noticed in some of the threads down below that I'd love to cover some of the events or devilgram cards here! If you happen to have transcripts of screenshots of your favorites, and don't mind sharing them PRIVATELY, share them with halationfics@gmail.com.
> 
> Of course, this is only if it won't get anyone into trouble; that's not the goal here.


	45. House Party

_ “You see, Eleanor, I believe that all of us have a mission in life. Perhaps yours is to influence Lucifer and his brothers in some way. Whatever influence you do end up having, I hope it turns out to be beneficial to them.” _

Diavolo’s words chase themselves around her head as she tries to sleep. She wishes she’d had time to ask him to clarify what he meant. She wishes she’d thought to tell him she doesn’t believe in fate. More than anything, she wishes they didn’t have that conversation soaked in champagne while standing outside of Ristorante Six.

All she can do now, tucked under her own covers, holding a pillow to her chest, is hope that he didn’t mean it as a warning.  _ Be helpful or else. _ At least it isn’t nightmares keeping her up this time. 

She sighs, staring up at her ceiling and listens to the faint refrains of a piano floating through the air. They’re so light that at first she thinks she’s imagining them, and she can’t remember when they started. When she follows them, tiptoeing through the dark hallways, they lead her right to Lucifer’s office; a bar of light shines through the crack of the semi-hidden door, which is hanging open slightly. 

“Hello?” She whispers into the dark, not wanting to interrupt him. WHen he doesn’t respond, she takes that, paradoxically, as an invitation to enter. The music grows just a little louder as she pulls the door open slowly, hoping to avoid it making any additional noise. 

“I didn’t think you’d still be… Up,” she almost doesn’t finish her sentence because Lucifer is very clearly not actually awake. He’s facedown on his desk, lost in a pile of papers; his pen dangles limply from his fingers, and she realizes with a start that he’s not wearing his gloves.  _ That’s right, _ she thinks sadly,  _ he probably has a lot to catch up on after our… adventure. _

She sneaks back into the kitchen to heat some water for tea, transferring it to an insulated teapot when it starts to boil. His favorite tea is on the very top shelf of the cabinet over the sink, all the way to the left; she has to hop up onto the counter to reach it. After a moment of deliberation she retreats to her room and retrieves one of the blankets she’s not using at the moment.

He’s still asleep when she returns to his office, blanket and teapot and teacup in her arms; he hasn’t moved at all, and she thinks now that it’s likely he won’t wake up until morning anyway. Lucifer is practically dead to the world. He doesn’t so much as twitch when she drapes her blanket over his wide shoulders, or when she teases his pen from between his fingertips. She sets the teapot and cup at the far side of his desk, so that if he moves in his sleep he’s less likely to knock them over.

It’s when she’s fussing over the teacup placement that she notices his D.D.D. on the floor; it had to have slipped from his hand when he fell asleep and she tsks.  _ You shouldn’t let yourself get this overworked, _ she wants to tell him, but knows that lecture wouldn’t get her anywhere. She reaches down to pick it up and has no intention of snooping, but it’s unlocked.

And she’s curious.

So she takes a peek—just the quickest, seconds-long peek—at the illuminated screen to find a chat log open between himself and Asmodeus. In the moment that she allows herself to pry, she sees that Asmodeus sent Lucifer the photo she’d sent to him, to prove that she was okay and that they were all together in London. She doesn’t look to see if Lucifer asked for the photo, of if Asmodeus was being his usual teasing self.  _ That would be even more of an invasion of privacy _ , she tells herself, sitting his phone face-down next to his teacup. The chocolate lizard keychain rattles against the table.

She didn’t think he’d actually use it. 

* * *

“I’ll collect you after I have a quick chat with Solomon, hmm?” Asmodeus tells her, tilting her face up with two of his fingers. She only stares blankly at him, trying to remember what his words could possibly be about. His excitement dims a little and he pats her cheek.

“You didn’t forget about me, did you? You said you’d go with me to Lucifugus’s party.”

“Oh!” She says because  _ now _ she remembers that she’d agreed. “Yeah. Yes. I remember,” she promises. And to her surprise, Asmodeus’s quick chat is just that—quick—and before she knows it her hand is in his and he’s power walking them to the House of Lamentation. 

“We need to get a move on, before one of my meddling brothers can try to steal you away,” he tells her with a pout. Eleanor laughs and squeezes his hand. “You spent an entire game semester with them, and then went to the human world and partied. It’s  _ my _ turn.”

“Okay, okay. If you say so,” she says as he pulls her up the stairs to his room. 

“I  _ do _ say so,” he says, almost satisfied with her answer. Asmodeus disappears into his closet for a few minutes, leaving her to wait on his bed. When he returns, he’s out of his school uniform. What concerns her the most is that he’s got piles of clothes draped over his arms. “Try this,” he says, throwing something in her direction. 

She holds it up for inspection and then looks at him. “I have my own clothes, Asmo.  _ You _ got them for me; I’m sure they’re up to your standards.”

“ _ Ple-e-e-e-ease, _ ” he says, and she sighs as if he’s asking a lot of her but she retreats into his closet anyway. It’s tasteful, at least; she knows that letting the Avatar of Lust dress her up has the potential to be a risky endeavor. 

“You’re a doll,” he tells her when she emerges.

“I certainly feel like it,” she acknowledges, smoothing out her long sleeves as she purposefully misinterprets his words. But she decides that it’s nice having someone fawn over her so obviously—even if it’s only because he wants to project a certain image. 

“In exchange, you can tell me what happened while you were gone,” he says, a gleeful gleam in his eyes. “Levi said that  _ much _ more time passed in the game than passed out here. And then you went to  _ London _ . When you came back you all seemed much… Closer.” 

Eleanor sighs. 

“It’s… nothing happened, really. They were—for the most part—all very sweet and flirty in the game, but then it all ended in bloodshed,” she wrinkles her nose at the memory, “and Satan and Lucifer still hadn’t switched back, so… Lucifer wanted to go and hunt down the witch that gave Satan the book.”

Asmodeus sighs. “That’s not as eventful as I hoped it was. Are you  _ sure _ nothing happened? Because you seemed  _ awfully _ upset just before you went to the human world...”

“Nothing happened,” Eleanor says after a pause. “I’m safe, see? Nobody even touched me.” She does a quick twirl to highlight the fact that she still has all of her limbs. Asmodeus smiles at her and pulls her into his arms, trailing a hand up and down her back as if he’s trying to comfort her. 

“They didn’t even touch you? Now that  _ is _ a problem,” he says, cheek pressed against her own. “If you’d like, we can always rectify that.” And despite the fact that she knows he can’t charm her, his words go right through her. 

“I’m not—I’m not going to  _ use you _ , Asmo, like you don’t have thoughts and feelings,” she tells him as she pulls out of his arms. Because she  _ does  _ like him, but she likes his brothers as well, and she’s not sure how to juggle it all. “I like you too much for that,” she adds when he pouts at her. He studies her face, searching for a lie, but can’t find one. 

“Well. I suppose we should be going, then,” he tells her, looping her arm through his.

* * *

She doesn’t show any sign of trepidation until they’re almost at Lucifugus’s doorstep, when she pulls him to a halt and looks at him like she’s trying to decide if he’s keeping something from her. 

“You’re sure Solomon is okay with you taking me to a party?” She asks. “I don’t really want to get hexed by him, or anything.”

“I keep forgetting that you are so very,  _ very _ human,” he tells her, tapping the tip of her nose with a teasing finger. She pouts up at him. “With a few exceptions, it’s rare for demons to only have one lover.”

“Oh,” she says, and he can tell that she’s working through something internally. “Lucifer  _ did _ tell me that demons just… take what they want.”

“Nothing so crass,” Asmodeus scoffs, wondering if he needs to have a conversation with his brother about how he phrases things in front of the human. “But, yes. We see no need to refrain from seeking pleasure. And neither should you, Eleanor,” he tells her as he flicks the end of the tail she’s pulled her hair into over her shoulder. “After all, you have  _ so _ much love to give. It’s written all over you.”

_ That _ makes her blush, which intrigues him; she barely blinks at most of his innuendos or the way he's been skimming his hands over her all night, but it’s talk of  _ love _ that has her embarrassed. Or nervous. He can’t decide which it is. But he decides to save those thoughts for later as he leads her inside, introducing her to Lucifugus and a few other demons he deems worthy. 

Lucifugus hands them both a horn of Demonus, but Asmodeus plucks Eleanor’s from her hands and gives it to someone else.    
“No telling what a demonic brew will do to you,” he tells her with a wink. While she’s not enthused to let someone else make decisions like that for her, she does see the wisdom in it. And because of the writhing mess that some of the other demons are, she’s grateful that he lets her all but sit on his lap; very few of the other partygoers want to infringe upon her personal space if he’s already there. 

“The human that jumped from the platform, yeah?” Lucifugus says, holding out his hand over the table they find themselves seated at. Eleanor reaches out to shake his hand.

“The very same.”

“I like her,” Lucifugus says, beaming, and Eleanor is a little irritated that he’s said it to Asmodeus and not herself. “How come you didn’t bring her to the last party?”

Asmodeus makes a big show of sighing and placing one of his arms around her shoulders, as if to mark his territory. “Lucifer got it into his head that our  _ distinguished guests _ a few weeks ago would not make good company for her.” Lucifugus nods thoughtfully and takes a long sip from his drink. 

“Suppose they wanted to keep you locked up safe in case one of the angels got it in their head to use a miracle on you,” the demon says, sneering at the idea of the angels more than at her. 

“Miracles?” Eleanor asks, tilting her head, trying to focus on the conversation and not the way Asmodeus’s hands linger between her thighs. 

“Angel magic,” Asmodeus says, his chin resting on her shoulder. “The more powerful the angel, the more powerful the miracle they’re capable of. Water into wine, healing lepers, raising the dead. That sort of nonsense.” He sounds bored as he says it, as if he’s not driving her crazy while she’s sitting on his lap. She bites down on the inside of her cheek and presses her legs closer together, trying not to seem too obvious.

“Not that any of them can break a demon pact. Not that I’d  _ let _ them try to break our pact, of course; you wouldn’t  _ believe _ the kind of power she’s capable of,” he tells Lucifigus as an aside as he slips his hand up her skirt under the table. Eleanor stiffens.

“I don’t think I’m a fan of exhibitionism,” she hisses in his ear, hoping that none of the nearby demons can hear her over the music. Not that it seems to matter to him. Not that it seems to matter to  _ most _ of the demons around them, based on what she’s seen some of them casually doing in the shadows. But he removes his hand and places both of them on her hips, lifting her from his lap. 

“If you’ll excuse us,” he says with a smile to the host of the party. Lucifugus only shrugs and turns to the demon beside him; Eleanor can’t hear what the discussion turns to before Asmodeus cajoles her into following him. Despite all part experience telling her  _ not _ to stray away from the heart of the party, she follows him to a quieter part of the house, where fewer demons are lurking. He pauses in front of a door and opens it; Eleanor thinks that he must have made a mistake because it leads only to the inside of an empty closet.

But he only elegantly sidesteps the door, pulling her in after him, drawing her in close. Before she can so much blink at the movement, he’s closed the closet door and locked it shut behind them.

“Wha—” She starts, but before she can continue his lips are back on hers and he’s pulling her hair out of the careless ponytail she’d thrown it up in earlier that night. The thin line of light seeping into the closet at their feet illuminates nothing but his basic form.

“Do you have  _ any _ idea how  _ frustrating _ that photo of you was, darling? Cuddled up with my brothers.” He nips at her neck and holds her hands above her head with one of his own. She doesn’t fight it, but she’s not sure she likes being denied the ability to run her fingers through his hair. “And  _ then _ to find out that none of them so much as  _ touched _ you, well…” he palms a breast through her shirt. “That’s just neglect, now isn’t it?”

“Asmo…” She says, but sure what she’s going to follow it up with—if anything at all.  _ There are people right outside _ , maybe. Or perhaps:  _ I need more _ . But he places a hand at her thigh, just barely skimming his fingertips under her skirt, and she sucks in a breath.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathes against her neck as his hand climbs higher. 

“I do,” she confesses, but his movement has stilled and she knows that he’s waiting for more. “I want this. I want y— _ Asmo _ !” She moans, cutting herself off as he pushes the crotch of her panties aside to slide a finger through her slick. Her hands twitch as she tries to reach for his shoulders, to try and give herself some sort of leverage to find any sort of friction between them. 

“Mmm, no, this isn’t going to do,” he tuts to himself, and Eleanor pouts in the darkness. There’s the gentle rasp of fabric and he moves her hands so her wrists are pressed up against the wall, next to one of the coat hooks hanging against the wall. “You don’t mind, do you?” He asks innocently.

And when she tries to yank her hands down to her sides, to tell him that she very much  _ does _ mind him teasing her, she finds that she can’t. He’s trussed her up against the wall, securing her hands with the scarf that usually graces his neck. 

“Of course you don’t,” he answers himself, and she agrees, knowing that she can raise her hands at any time to free herself. He leans back and admires his handiwork for a moment, and Eleanor shifts her weight from foot to foot, wishing he’d just do  _ something. _

“Now, let me see…” He croons, using both hands to pick her shirt buttons undone. “I would have  _ preferred _ to do this somewhere more comfortable, at first. But when opportunity knocks…” He lets his sentence trail off, curling some of her hair around his fingers. He’s not waiting for her to reply and she knows it, but that doesn’t stop her from frowning at him in the darkness.

“Please, Asmo,” she hopes that hearing her speak will spur him to do something. He only offers her a small smile and a kiss on her cheek. 

“Just a moment,” he tells her as he reaches under her skirt to pull her panties down, crouching down as he guides the fabric down her legs, pressing tiny kisses against her skin as he goes. She picks up her feet when he taps her ankles, and she doesn’t see him pocket her undergarment once he’s removed it completely from her. There’s another rustle of fabric and the sound of a zipper being pulled down, and then he leans against her.

“I’ve thought of this for quite a while, of course, but I never thought you’d be  _ quite _ so bold.” His hips shift and she feels the press of his cock against the valley that her thighs make.  _ Awful, awful, awful tease _ , she wants to tell him, but she settles for sliding her legs open slowly, inviting him closer.

“And when you’ve  _ thought _ about it, how does it go, exactly?”

“Oh, it’s different each time, of course,” he says casually as he positions himself at her entrance, guiding one of her legs up to rest against his hip. She tilts her hips forward but he remains stubbornly just barely touching her, and she closes her eyes in frustration.

“Open your eyes, darling,” he tells her, teasing, and she huffs at him.

“I can’t see anything anyway,” she says.

“But  _ I _ can,” he points out, pressing a kiss between her eyes. She can feel his cheek brush against her eyelashes. “And I really, really would like to see you come undone. Pretty please?”

And she does because he asks so sweetly; her reward is a long, deep kiss that ends in him sheathing himself in her, fast and hard. Her shoulders bump against the closet wall and she hisses into his mouth at the sensation. He rocks his hips back slowly so that he can watch her, never quite leaving her before he returns. 

She  _ almost _ feels bad that her hands are still tied up above her head and she can’t touch him the way he’s touching her, but he’d been riling her up all night with his sly little touches. So she has no qualms in letting him take all of her weight as she wraps her other leg around him so he can drive himself deeper. Little moans and nonsense words fall from her as she feels herself cresting higher with each of his hard thrusts.

“Careful, now,” he warns softly against her neck. “I thought you weren’t a fan of exhibitionism, darling.” She shudders when his lips fall down to her collarbone, where he leaves a soft bite, and then down to one of her peaked nipples. Her position means that she can feel her own muscles contract around him as she comes, and without meaning to, she arches her back against the wall.

He smiles wickedly and shifts her so that he can cover her mouth with one of his hands, but he doesn’t stop his own movements, taking advantage of the way she’s pressed herself further against him. All of her little trembling movements he takes in as she’s driven to overstimulation, the way she slumps against the wall after she comes down, the way he can feel her coiling tight again. 

“My turn,” he tells her, and she has a second to piece together his words before she can feel him pulse within her. He gives her one or two more lazy thrusts before he pulls himself out, helping her to stand on shaky legs. Her knees wobble and she has to hold onto the support she’s bound to. 

“I think you were right,” he tells her, resting his forehead against her chest. “Things  _ are _ better once you’ve earned them.”

“What?” She asks, having only half heard him. But she’s quickly distracted by the feeling of something running down her leg. Instinctively she reaches for it, but she succeeds only in reminding herself that her hands are still bound. Asmodeus smiles against her bare skin when he realizes that she’s noticed her state.

“Poor kitten,” he says to her as he sinks low to his knees. “Did I get you all dirty?”

“ _ Kitten? _ ”

“You mewl  _ so _ prettily,” he tells her as he kisses up her leg. “So yes, you’re my kitten.”

“You ca—aah,” her retort turns into a low moan as he swipes his tongue against her sensitized folds, finding her clit. She hasn’t had enough time to recover, and his soft ministrations steal the breath from her lungs again. “ _ Asmo _ ,” she grinds out, trying to keep her voice low and soft even as he’s preparing to push her over the edge again. 

“Just once more, for me, hmm?” And it’s the vibrations from his voice against her heated flesh that does it; she clenches around nothing as she sobs out another release, giving up on the pretense of keeping quiet. He watches her hungrily as he stands, catching her in his arms when her legs give out so that she doesn’t harm her wrists.

The air around them crackles for the briefest of moments as she falls into him, just long enough to remind him of holy light and the sea salt and the heady thrum of power zinging through him in the labyrinth; he realizes with a start that it’s coming from  _ her _ , the tiny human in his arms. And then it disappears like a flame snuffed out and she shudders back to herself. 

“Shhh,” he says as he releases her bindings, rubbing her wrists one at a time. When she slaps a halfhearted hand against his chest there’s none of that power he craves behind it. 

“That was too much,” she tells him sourly, and he laughs at her protestations.

“You didn’t tell me to stop, though,” he points out, earning him another light shove as she buries her face into his jacket. With her forehead pressed against his sternum, she can feel that now-familiar rumble that she’s deciding that she likes.

“Hey,” she says after what feels like a long moment of just letting him hold her. “What’s that chest rumbly, purr-y thing you guys do?”

“It isn’t a purr,” he corrects her sharply before he realizes what she asked. When he does, he shifts her away from him so that he can look at her; his gaze betrays his delighted interest. “And from  _ whom _ have you heard it already?”

He can see her gaze slide from him in the dark as the faintest pink blush graces her cheeks. 

“Contentment. Happiness.  _ Satisfaction _ ,” he tells her, stressing the last word to give it additional meaning. And then he grins wickedly. “So  _ you’re  _ the reason there’s so much  _ delicious _ lust floating around the house lately,” he says, and watches as she processes his words.

“Wait. Who?” She asks, her voice a tight squeak. He bends over her so that his mouth is pressed against her ear.

“Not. Telling.” And then he smiles, and she scowls. “But I suppose I should be getting you home, kitten.” 

She looks up at him sharply. “You were the one who invited me here!”

“And I’m thrilled that I did,” he tells her soothingly. “But you look utterly debauched, and I don’t want any other demons thinking they can take a bite out of you tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you know how daunting it is trying to write smut with the avatar of lust in it.
> 
> the answer is very.


	46. Human Frailties

“Ahh, this is gettin’ annoyin’,” Mammon groans from her bed. She has her back to him as she sits at the table in her room, struggling over a particularly convoluted question from their law class. 

“Hmmm?” She says, more to indicate that she’s heard him than to ask about what he obviously wants her to. 

“Levi asked us to enter our names into this contest of his to see some band,” he explains.

“Shoes off the bed,” she reminds him out of habit when she hears fabric rustling, still frowning down at the answer she’s written down. Behind her, she hears him shift again. 

“ _ Anyway _ ,” he continues as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “The drawing was supposed to be today and he’s not sayin’ if he won.” He huffs as if he’d been personally invested in the outcome of the drawing; Eleanor thinks it’s sweet that the brothers helped Leviathan out. It’s even sweeter to her that Mammon cares if his brother is happy. She abandons her homework and stands with a stretch. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find out one way or another, right?” She sits down at the edge of her bed next to him and plays with his hair. He doesn’t shy away from her touches like he might if anyone was watching them.  _ I’ll take what I can get, _ she tells herself as she draws a hand across his cheek, letting him luxuriate in her gentle touches. “You’re really sweet.”

“Stop treatin’ me like a child,” he grumbles, reaching up to capture her hand in his own. Eleanor pretends to be outraged and leans over him so that their foreheads almost touch; she watches as he almost goes cross eyed trying to keep her in his view.

“I can  _ promise _ you that I don’t treat you like a child,” she tells him, pressing a kiss to his forehead as she throws a leg over his chest so she’s straddling him. “Do you think for a second I’d let Luke into my room as often as you are?” Mammon’s face scrunches up into an expression of disgust, but it does little to hide the blush starting to grow. 

“Luke ain’t a kid—and don’t make me think of Luke!”

“The answer is  _ no _ ,” she continues, pretending he hasn’t spoken as she places a finger over his lips. “But I can’t help it if sometimes my Mammon is just  _ begging _ me to play with his hair.” His eyes gleam with an emotion that she can’t quite decipher, blue and gold boring into her own. He takes advantage of her momentary distraction to swap their positions. She makes a little  _ eep  _ noise as he upsets her balance to roll her over onto her back.

“ _ Your _ Mammon, huh?” He says from his position above her. “Guess that of course you’d want the Great Mammon to be yours. Can’t fault ya much for that.” And then he does the last thing she expects him to do: he takes advantage of the fact that he has her in the cage of his arms and legs to tickle her. 

Her shrieks of laughter carry down the hallway despite her closed door. 

“Get off, get off, get off!” She tells him between peals of laughter, pushing against him halfheartedly. He doesn’t, doubling down instead.

That’s when her bedroom door slams open with a crash that almost has her jumping out of her skin, and even Mammon pauses. Silence falls between the two demons and the singular human. Eleanor doesn’t think she’s ever seen the blend of confusion, ebbing rage, and surprise that Lucifer wears now on anyone else, ever. But it’s gone in the blink of an eye as he takes in the scene before him. 

Lucifer is not  _ happy _ to see the human looking so flushed underneath his brother, her hair fanning out behind her, but it isn’t the chaos he’d been expecting when he threw her door open. 

“I would like your assistance,” he says instead of the threats that almost fell from him a moment ago. “With dinner.  _ Not you _ ,” he hisses at Mammon as his brother stands with a shrug. Eleanor hasn’t looked away from Lucifer since he appeared in her doorway, and it’s his gaze on her that spurs her into movement. 

“Sure,” she tells him easily, slipping out from Mammon’s grip. She ties back her hair with one of the bands around her wrist, seeming not to care that the ends of it are tangled a little. Lucifer stands aside so she can walk by him, her capitulation coming too easy. 

“So,” she says to him, already sitting on the counter when he enters the kitchen. He’s reminded, forcibly, of the night she helped herself to his drink. “When are you going to give me my blanket back?”

She enjoys the sight of him being thrown off balance, even if it is just for a moment. And it’s only belatedly that she realizes that perhaps she shouldn’t have let him know that  _ she _ knew he’d fallen asleep over his work, on the off chance he hadn’t already known she’d been the one to sneak into his study.  _ Oops _ , she thinks as she idly swings her legs. He only gives her that inscrutable look of his in return.

“Perhaps if you wanted something back, you shouldn’t have given it away in the first place,” he tells her as he starts pulling things from the fridge. She thinks that perhaps she’s safe, until he turns around and freezes her with what she can only think of as a lascivious smirk. “Or perhaps I should have you retrieve it from my room yourself.”

She breathes in so sharply that she has to cough, and when her fit stops, she finds she can’t quite make herself meet his eyes. 

“I’m going to… To wash these vegetables,” she announces, her voice lilting up at the end of her sentence as if she’s asking a question.  _ That’s safe, right? I think that’s safe. _ All thoughts of teasing him about trying to be her knight in shining armor have been forcibly driven from her mind.  _ Shit, _ she thinks, pausing in her actions.  _ Did he do that on purpose? _

* * *

Leviathan doesn’t come down for dinner, which Eleanor finds concerning. Even if he’s late, he usually at least makes an appearance or lets someone know that he’ll be somewhere else.  _ Well, if no one else is going to… _ she thinks, slipping away from the dining room. Predictably, his door is shut. When she knocks on it, he doesn’t reply. But she can hear noises coming from his room, so she knocks again, harder this time.

“Open up, Levi!” She demands, pounding on his door. “It’s your Henry!” The noises from inside his room pause and a moment later, his door unlatches. When he opens it, he doesn’t step aside to let her in. She enters anyway. 

“Whatcha watching?” She asks, pointing to his screen. He retreats to his bathtub and burrows under his nest of blankets and pillows. From the screen, she can tell that it’s some live performance of some sort. 

“Sucre Frenzy,” he tells her dispassionately, and Eleanor frowns. She’s heard him talking about the group before; they’re his absolute  _ favorite _ , and she can’t think of a reason why he’d ever sound so glum when discussing them. 

“Did they… disband?”

“No,” he pouts. “It’s just that I didn’t get a single ticket! No presale tickets, no general admission tickets. Nothing! I registered under a ton of different names, and I even had my brothers helping me out. And still nothing,” he tells her from underneath the pile of pillows in his bathtub bed. “She hates me, doesn’t she? Zaramela’s got it out for me, I know it.” Eleanor can gather enough from context clues to understand that whoever Zaramela is, she’s his favorite member of Sucre Frenzy. Eleanor only shakes her head, but he can’t see her from his hiding place.

“Do you… want a hug?” She asks, not sure how else to proceed.

“No! As if I’d want a hug from some normie! Guess it’s time to go back to the hermit lifestyle,” he adds glumly, and Eleanor sits delicately at the edge of his bathtub.  _ Nuh-uh, _ she thinks vehemently.  _ Not on my watch. _

“Oh no!” She exclaims dramatically, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead as if overcome with a spell of the vapors. “My human frailty… strikes again…”

And then she launches herself backwards onto him; he yelps in surprise, but has no choice but to catch her. 

“What… what’s happening?” There’s almost a squeak to his voice that almost makes her laugh, which would ruin her ruse. When she cracks an eye open and shimmies around to see him, his face is bright red. Before he can notice her looking, she jams her eyes shut tightly.

“Humans need at least… four hugs a day to survive,” she tells him, selecting a number at random. Her voice is muffled against his chest, and she can feel his heart racing. He stiffens beneath her.

“Th-that’s not true!” 

“Yes it is. Hug me,” she demands, all false frailty stripped from her voice. If he notices the change in her tone at all he doesn’t give her any signs. His arms wrap around her loosely and she hugs him back as forcefully as she can while he mutters something about normie tactics. 

“... Feel better?” She asks when she doesn’t think he can take any more. She sits up, leaning back somewhere near his feet so he can get away if he wants to. But he doesn’t. She takes in his flushed face and the way he’s leaning into a pillow like it’s helping to hide him at all, and she takes pity. “Show me some of your favorite shows of theirs?”

This makes him scramble to sit up, and he pins her with a wary look as if he’s expecting her to burst into laughter. She throws both arms over the lip of his tub so she doesn't get unbalanced by the sudden shift of blankets. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she tells him with a determined nod. “If you like them, then they must really be good, right?”

“Of course!” He says, pulling his D.D.D. from his pocket. “They have an entire live show category on their Deviltube account—I can’t believe you’ve  _ never _ seen them before. But don’t worry; I’ll show you everything there is to know about Sucre Frenzy!”

And he does. She doesn’t point out that there’s an entire screen he’s abandoned in favor of his phone, just like she doesn’t complain when her legs start cramping.  _ How on earth does he sleep here? _ She wonders; with her back pressed up against one side and her knees against the other, she can’t imagine that it’s terribly comfortable. 

“Oh, sorry,” he says, sounding disappointed when she shifts. “You’re probably really bored…”

“No!” She tells him. “I’m just trying to get comfortable.” He gives her a look like he doesn’t seem to believe her, so she huffs and continues. “Look, I like that you’re into stuff. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to share it with you,” she tells him, and he watches her warily as if waiting for her to burst into laughter. 

But she doesn’t.

Her gaze remains as open and honest as ever, and he feels the dam of resentment he’d been preparing to build break down. 

“... If you say so,” he says, and not sure what else to do, he plays the next video in his queue. Except now more than ever he’s more aware of her presence at his shoulder and the way that, after another hour or so of Sucre Frenzy, she starts slipping lower in the bathtub. 

She tries to stay awake. She really does. But after a while she gives in to the siren song of unconsciousness, and he’s too nervous to wake her even though one of his favorite sets is coming up. 

It’s almost a mercy, then, when Satan knocks at his door an hour later because her head is on his shoulder and he can’t help but to think that it reminds him of that one episode of  _ The Magical Ruri Hana: Demon Girl _ , when Ruri was still getting used to her limitations in the human world. But the glimmer in Satan’s eyes sets Leviathan on edge, and he finds himself having to defend his own… inaction? He isn’t sure what to call it. 

“We’re not doing anything wrong!” Leviathan protests, glancing at Eleanor to make sure he hasn’t woken her with his outburst. She sleeps on, oblivious to the new demon standing over them both.

“That you aren’t,” Satan acknowledges, peering down at the human in his brother’s bathtub bed. “Just know that we cannot claim her to be our plaything.” Leviathan opens his mouth to protest at his brother’s words, face red again—but he’s halted by the glimmer in Satan’s eyes and the way his lips quirk into the barest hint of a smile.

“Yet.”

Leviathan’s face only grows redder as he knits his brows together.

“What? What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Satan asks, full of false innocence. He notes the way Leviathan cover’s the human’s ears as if he can’t bear to let her hear Satan’s answer, even in her sleep.

“ _ Satan, _ ” Leviathan stresses his brother’s name. “Eleanor is my friend. I mean, she didn’t even so much as flinch when I said I was into otaku stuff, and she just watched four tours worth of Sucre Frenzy footage! I have a  _ duty _ to protect that friendship!” His voice rises, enough that Eleanor mumbles something and pats a hand over Leviathan’s face in a sleepy attempt to regain the earlier silence. “You’d better not do anything to scare Eleanor off.”

Satan has the decency to look mildly offended. 

“I would never,” he assures his brother, holding his hands out for the human. “But, in the end, isn’t it up to her how things develop?” Leviathan glances at the human resting against his shoulder. 

“What is  _ that _ supposed to mean?” Satan smiles at Leviathan’s question and crouches so that he’s at the same level as those in the bathtub. 

“Nothing much. Just that no matter how well she’s seemed to blend in here, she’s still human; no matter what she decides on, we should respect that.”

“Doesn’t  _ sound _ like nothing much,” Leviathan tells him suspiciously. 

“Hmm. At any rate, don’t you think she should be getting back to her own room? Mammon might come looking for her.” Leviathan scowls at his brother’s warning, remembering every other time Mammon has burst into his room and caused as much chaos as possible. And he doesn’t want to have another Seraphina figurine incident on his hands. 

“Fine,” Leviathan pouts and looks back down at Eleanor. “But I’m serious; don’t do anything weird!” Leviathan lets Satan pull her from the bathtub and she wakes up at the movement. She blinks into the soft blue light of Leviathan’s room. 

“Oh. Hi, Satan,” she says, standing on her own and pulling herself from his arms. “What’s going on?”

“Humans shouldn’t sleep in bathtubs,” Satan points out, and Eleanor nods, feeling the way her muscles have already cramped. She accepts the hand he offers her and steps out of Leviathan’s bathtub bed. 

“Right,” she says, yawning. “Goodnight, Levi; don’t worry about Sucre Frenzy so much, okay? There’ll be more shows.” He pouts at her but doesn’t protest her words. Even if he doesn’t like it, she’s right—there will be more shows, even though he really, really wanted to see  _ this _ one, and the fact that he can’t attend fuel the flames of envy in his heart. 

* * *

The lights in the hallways flare to life when they step into it, which Eleanor is grateful for even if her eyes strain at the sudden change. She’s not quite certain why he seems determined to walk her back to her room.  _ It isn’t like there’s anything lurking in the halls… _ She thinks, looking at her from the corner of her eye.  _ Or rather, nothing that isn’t always lurking… _

“Eleanor,” he eventually says, coming to a sudden halt. He reaches out for her hand so she has to stop as well. “Are you free tomorrow? I’m sure there are many places in the Devildom you haven’t seen yet. I was wondering if we might go exploring Silent Avenue tomorrow.”

_ Where is this coming from? _ She almost asks him, but he seems sincere enough in his question that she smiles brightly up at him. 

“Sure! Let’s go.”

He smiles back down at her, but his smile quickly turns to a frown. 

“Wait a moment. Let me rephrase that, if you will…” He trails off and looks away from her for a moment before his gaze returns to her face. “Let’s go on a date. That’s what I wanted to ask. Are you still interested in coming with me if it’s a date?” He holds both of her hands, preventing her from toying with her hair. Deprived of her usual method of handling nerves, her face flushes.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. You told me yourself that if I was going to attempt to romance someone, I should mean it. So, again: would you go on a date with me?”

Her jaw drops open. She can’t help it.  _ Way to go, El, _ she tells herself, remembering exactly when she’d given him that advice, never dreaming that he’d use it on  _ her _ . But here he is, holding her hands in his and staring at her like her answer might be written across the back of her skull.

“A date? I…” She pauses. Licks her lips. Wishes he wouldn’t stare at her so intently. “Yeah, of course.” 

“Good,” he tells her with a smile that sets her a little more at ease. “I’m looking forward to our date. But one more thing,” he says, dropping one of her hands so run a thumb against her cheekbone, tracing her furious blush. “What’s this for? You don’t have this reaction when Asmo flirts at you.”

She wishes the ground would swallow her up.

“Asmo doesn’t mean anything by it,” she mutters, barely loud enough for him to hear her clearly. 

“Oh, doesn’t he?” Satan asks, feigning innocence. “Good to know. I’ll pick you up tomorrow after classes, okay? And  _ don’t _ tell Mammon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!! Sorry for the unexpected delay. I blabbed about it on tumblr.
> 
> To make up for that, how about a speck of fluff?


	47. In the Cards

There’s no reason for her to feel quite so giddy. She knows this. Just like she knows that Satan has already seen her still groggy from waking up or directly after a workout with Beelzebub so there’s no  _ real _ reason for her to dress up aside from vanity, but…

She does it anyway. It helps the situation feel more normal to her. For all that everyone keeps telling her that she’s settled into the Devildom remarkably well, every now and then she  _ remembers _ that she’s surrounded by actual, literal demons. Sometimes, that reality hits harder than other times. Now is one of those times as she pulls back her hair experimentally before letting it drop again, pulling a face at how it looked with her top. 

Any further fussing is brought to a sudden end by a knock at her door, which she leaps to answer. Unsurprisingly, it’s Satan. 

“Hi!” She says brightly, slipping her phone into her back pocket. He looks at her like he can’t quite believe she answered so quickly, then holds his arm out for her to take. 

“I think perhaps we should leave the back way,” he tells her, leaning down as if he’s relating a secret. And despite living in the Devildom long enough to have had midterms, she’s not sure she’s actually found all of the hidden passageways or secret doors in the House of Lamentation. Excited to be shown another, she nods eagerly, not bothering to ask  _ why _ such secrecy is necessary. She slips her arm through his because he offered, and lets him lead her to the back of the house to the planetarium, where one of the wide windows opens up and reveals itself as a door.

“Woah,” she breathes, impressed that it had been right under her nose the whole time. 

“Don’t use it to sneak out,” Satan cautions, and Eleanor immediately determines to do exactly the opposite. “You’re not supposed to know about it.”

“And why’s that?”

He glances down at her and she catches an amused glimmer in his green eyes, one that says  _ shouldn’t you already know that answer? _ “Because  _ someone _ has always been concerned that you’ll get it into your head and run away. And there are angels wandering about down here as well,” he adds as an afterthought. Eleanor scoffs at his addition.

“Because Luke is  _ so _ dangerous,” she says as he shuts the glass door behind them. 

“To someone like you,  _ everyone _ here is dangerous—even Luke. Humans have a fascinating view on angels, but don’t forget: they also fought in the Celestial War.” His words make her frown, even though she knows the truth of them. But no matter how she tries to rationalize it, she can’t think of Luke as anything but a child. The idea of him being involved in anything as dangerous as a war turns her stomach.

“So, where to first?” She says, searching for a new topic. Satan helps her down the steep hill behind the House of Lamentation towards the town shimmering in the dark below. It’s nearer than it looks—that much she knows from experience. But without a demon or a witch light to guide her way, she’s certain she’d only ever stumble in the dark. 

“There’s a bookstore. It isn’t new, but an acquaintance there told me that they were getting new shipments in. Some things are from the human world,” he says casually, watching her face carefully for any signs of elation. She’s curious, he can tell, but doesn’t show the type of longing he keeps expecting her to have for her own realm. 

“You said that was rare,” she notes. 

“It is. It can be quite a task bringing human world things to the Devildom. Or the Celestial Realm, I suppose.” They step onto one of the side streets of the shopping district, and Eleanor looks up at the tree branches crossing between the buildings, providing homes for the lanterns that light up the streets below. It’s one of her favorite places, she admits to herself.  _ Even if the green glow is a little weird… _

“The bookstore is this way,” Satan says, and Eleanor falls into step beside him, taking advantage of his slower pace to look at as much as she can.  _ There’s the magic store Lucifer took me into _ , she thinks as they make their way to the main street, pleased that she can recognize at least a few small corners of the Devildom. 

The smell of old books and new ink hits her immediately when they enter the bookstore, and she realizes with a start that it looks nothing like the human world version she’s been to. Instead of clearly delineated genre sections and brightly-lit shelves, everything is crammed onto any available space. She spots what looks like a tawdry romance novel wedged between a skull and what looks to be a book on astronomy. 

“How is it… organized?” She asks, running a finger across the books stacked on top of the little display rack. They’re not displayed at all; instead, it looks like someone got bored halfway through and just abandoned their task. 

“It isn’t,” Satan says. “Which can be… problematic. But it does make finding something worthwhile that much more interesting.”

“I bet,” she breathes, easing one out from the cramped shelf it’s wedged onto. They find seats on the overstuffed chairs by the window and take turns reading each other passages from the books they select randomly from the piles at their feet. 

“‘It has long been suspected that humans designated as saints or shamans in their respective cultures have souls that, if they are not wholly celestial, have celestial qualities…’ oh, this feels  _ so _ weird to read,” she mutters, furrowing her brows as she focuses on the passage again. Satan looks up at her. 

“I have a hard time believing that’s what the book says.”

“It isn’t,” she tells him, sounding distant because she’s lost in her thoughts. “It’s just weird to hear yourself discussed like an anthropology subject. Weirder still to know that there are entire  _ books _ on humans and some of you,” she peers at him over the pages of her book, mischief in her eyes, “are still so clueless.” But then she blinks in realization, all intentions of teasing Satan abandoning her. 

“Wait, does that mean that these people,” she gives her book a little shake for emphasis, “were half angels? Simeon and Luke mentioned that there used to be a lot of little human hybrids kicking around.”

“It’s likely,” Satan says, considering her words. Long, long ago he studied the so-called holy humans, but he’s since forgotten much of what he didn’t care to remember. “Souls are nebulous things; it wouldn’t surprise me that a human in possession of celestial qualities would stand out from the pack, as it were.”

“Luke said that they were ‘called home’ and I’m pretty sure that’s code for murdered.” She makes a face that tells Satan exactly what she thinks of that idea. “Do demons—”

“Demons don’t tend to breed with humans,” he interrupts her cooly, desperately searching for a lighthearted passage to read to distract her. 

“You make it sound so clinical,” she huffs, but then drops the subject and places the book in her hands back on a pile. He finds something in a comedy book that has her hiding her laughter behind both hands, and he’s pleased to see that she’s given up that particular line of questioning. 

She knows of the situation of his birth; he’s well aware of her knowledge, just as he knows she likely does  _ not _ know of his inexperience when it comes to the Celestial Realm. He knows angels. He even once knew one or two Nephilim, millennia ago. Some of Lucifer’s memories from the Celestial Realm rattle around in his skull, but they’re not his. It’s a glaring hole in the fabric of his knowledge, one that he doesn’t particularly like to advertise. 

Eventually, the shop owner comes along to chase them out; the fact that this is meant good-naturedly is lost on Eleanor, who keeps trying to apologise profusely. When she tries to assist in cleaning up the books they’ve moved about, the shopkeeper becomes visibly distressed.

“Stop apologizing. Just come along,” Satan says, grabbing her by her hand. “The books are where they’re meant to be, now,” he explains to her, knowing that she’s having a difficult time parsing the demon’s dialect. “Foras knows we’re on a date and is insisting that I take you somewhere more… stimulating.”

The tips of her ears burn pink. “He knows we’re on a date?”

“Foras knows a lot of things,” Satan explains as they wind through the crowds on the street. “Except, it seems, how to mind his own business.” This, at last, draws more laughter from her and he stops, seeking refuge in the space between two storefronts. 

The evening crowd is emerging from their daytime haunts, making the streets far busier than they’d been before they entered the bookstore. It’s this humming commotion that draws her eye right to the one spot of stillness in the chaos.

“What’s that?” She asks, nudging Satan’s arm with her elbow. He looks in the direction she’s pointing in and sighs.

“That’s a tarot reader. You believe in fortune telling?” He asks, and she shakes her head at him. 

“Of course not; if I did, then that would mean that I believe in fate, which I  _ don’t _ . Because that would mean that someone let some seriously awful things happen.”

“ _ That, _ ” Satan says, a delighted grin on his face. “Is fantastically close to heresy.” Eleanor only shrugs, and fishes in her pocket for money, sidling up to the tarot booth and slipping a few grimm to the woman behind it. The demon is smothered in gold jewelry and loose, floaty shawls that make her look ethereal, almost angelic when the light shines on her. Eleanor wonders if it’s to make herself look more mystical, and if demons actually care about that at all.

The demon looks her up and down, as if judging her worthiness, and Eleanor can feel Satan move to stand behind her. 

“Cut the deck into five,” the demon says, sliding her deck out to Eleanor after she’s shuffled the cards. “With your  _ left hand, _ ” she adds when Eleanor reaches out with her right. Frowning at the way her knuckles have just been rapped, Eleanor reaches out with her left hand and cuts the deck at random, creating five smaller piles of cards. “Good. Now flip one from each pile up.”

Eleanor does as she’s instructed reaching out with her left hand again to flip up the first card. The feel of the paper is strange against her fingertips; the cards have clearly been worn down by time and use, but they still feel smooth.

“Well, aren’t you a sweetheart,” the demon says, tapping the exposed face of the card with a long nail. On it, a hand emerges from a cloud, holding a golden chalice; from the chalice spring streams of water, all falling to the ground below. “This isn’t usually pulled to represent the querent here. But then again… This is the Devildom. This is the Ace of Cups; you’re the heart of any group, but be careful that you’re not drained by it.”

_ Sounds like a load of shit, _ Eleanor thinks.  _ It’s just like horoscopes. Vague enough to fit just about anyone. _ But when the demon urges her to flip another card, she does so. This one looks a little less innocent; a man dangles from a rope by his ankle, but she can’t read any worry in the illustration’s face. It’s almost as if he doesn’t care at all.

“The Hanged Man,” the demon intones, placing it beside the other card Eleanor pulled. “I  _ do _ hope you’re not _ too _ foolhardy, little sacrificial lamb.”

“ _ Excuse me?” _ Eleanor snaps at the demon, who does nothing but smile benignly down at her. She considers walking away and leaving the rest of her cards unturned.  _ Damn it, I paid for it; I’m getting every last second of misery from this nonsense. _ She flips another card, and her face blanches at the result.

The image of a human heart being stabbed through by three blades is not exactly what she wanted to see, especially not after being told that she’s the heart herself. Not wanting to wait for the demon to wax poetic about it, she quickly flips her fourth card. It doesn’t make her feel any better.

“The three of swords and the ten of swords. My my, the swords  _ do _ like you, don’t they?” She taps the newest card, pointing at the ten swords gracing it; they stick out of the back of a prone figure, who lays face down on the ground. Eleanor stares down at them and her face twists into one of disgust.

The demon opens her mouth to talk about both of the cards, but Satan curls his hands over hers and crushes her fingers against her table and the cards.    
“I think that we’re done here,” he says with a smile, and based on how white his knuckles are, Eleanor is almost grateful that she can’t see the expression on his face. It’s a reminder that she’s with the Avatar of Wrath, and she can only be grateful that he still has control of his composure. 

Eleanor leaves the last card unturned as she backs away from the spread, tugging at Satan’s jacket sleeve as she retreats. Her free hand clutches at the nazar around her neck, a reminder of the extra layer of protection it affords her. 

“Like I said,” she tells him when he finally stops trying to murder the other demon with his eyes, “I don’t believe in fortune or telling. It’s not a big deal.”

“You were upset by it,” he tells her, and she nods at his statement. 

“I mean, yeah. Nobody  _ wants _ to see a human pincushion come up in their reading, right? It could have meant that I was about to win the lottery, and it still wouldn’t be a good image.”  _ Besides, I was more worried that you were going to tear off her fingers at the end there, _ she doesn’t tell him. But he accepts her answer and doesn’t press for anything further, which she decides is a good thing; she’s not sure what else she’d tell him. 

“Anyway. That bakery looks good,” she says, pointing to one that is bustling with activity. “Want to get something?” She barely waits for him to respond, but she only manages to get a few steps away before he’s caught up with her. When it seems like the demon restocking the pastries is already familiar with Satan, Eleanor isn’t quite sure why she’s so surprised.  _ He knows just about everyone, _ she thinks as she accepts the cupcake he hands her when he returns. 

“Apple pie?” She asks, glancing at his plate. 

“It’s sweet, but not…” he glances at her cupcake. “ _ Too _ sweet.” 

“What’s wrong with sweet?” She asks, another one of her terrible, terrible ideas brewing. She knows it’s bad, but she also knows he likely needs a distraction from whatever that farce of a tarot reading was, so she swipes a fingertip through the mountain of lavender icing on her cupcake.

And while he’s distracted thinking of an answer, she smears it on his nose. 

There’s the risk of anger—she knew it was there even when she reached out for him—but it doesn’t appear. He looks at her, eyes wide, mouth pursed as if he’s going to ask a question, and she can’t help it: she bursts into giggles in the middle of the bakery while he’s processing the fact that he has icing on his face. 

“Okay, okay,” she says in between bubbles of laughter when he still hasn’t moved. “I’m sorry. Look, I’ll wipe it off.” But her movement reminds him that action of some sort should probably be taken, and he swipes it away with a napkin before she can do it herself.

“Expect payback,” he tells her with a smile, and she doesn’t feel like she’s in any danger at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone hear boss music?


	48. Teasing

She considers, once she’s safely tucked away in the House of Lamentation, sneaking out to find the tarot booth again. To demand another reading, to prove that the first was nonsense borne from little more than pure chance. But she doubts that the demon would still be there in the late hours of the night, not when even Silent Avenue tends to be deserted.

Irritated, her fingers find the nazar around her neck; she flips it between her fingers like she’s performing a coin trick. The normally smooth surface of the pendant snags against the soft skin on the inside of her fingers and she almost drops it, catching it at the last moment by the chain around her neck. She holds it away from her face, letting it catch the bright moonlight that filters through her window and the tree branches above her bed. 

Right across the center of the stylized eye is a hairline crack; she has to drag the nail of her thumb across it to even be sure that it’s there. When her nail catches on the thin imperfection, she lets the pendant drop back down to her chest and covers it with both of her hands. The images of the sword cards float through her mind, which makes her scowl and sit up. 

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she tells herself, ignoring the fact that she’s learning about magic and summoning circles and demonology.  _ What’s a little fortune telling, _ an insidious part of her asks. She grits her teeth with the force of her denial, slipping out from beneath her covers. It’s late. She knows that most of the people sharing the house with her are either already asleep or busy; she doesn’t want to have to deal with her own insecurities, so she can’t imagine foisting them upon someone else, someone who is already occupied. 

She wraps herself in a blanket and creeps out of her room, deciding that some of the chamomile tea that she’s noticed in the cupboard might help. 

And she’s not surprised to find Beelzebub already there; perhaps that is why she left her room to begin with. She grabs a mug and fetches the kettle, letting the water come to a bubbling boil, and then sits down at the prep table to wait for her tea to steep. 

“You’re awake,” he says with some surprise when he turns, a plate of leftovers in each of his hands. 

“I can’t get back to sleep,” she tells him, stirring her tea, wishing it would darken faster. 

“Bad dreams?” He asks, and she finds herself in familiar territory with him. The tea is still scalding when it touches her lips, and she hisses with the brief pain of it as she sets the cup down hard on the table.

“Kind of. Not really,” she contradicts herself with a noncommittal shrug, wiping the tiny bead of tea left on the rim of her mug by her lips. He sits down across from her as he tucks into his meal. 

“Want to talk about it?” He asks, and she shakes her head as a negative answer.

“It’s silly. Not really worth talking about, actually. But I think that maybe I just don’t want to be alone for a little bit.”

“I get that,” he says from around a mouthful of food as he studies her face. As always, he finishes his food with a speed that Eleanor finds just a little unnerving; she doubts she’ll ever completely get accustomed to it. “Come with me,” he says once he’s finished and put his dishes away. 

“Sure,” she says, clutching the nazar around her neck as if that will heal the fracture within. He leads her all the way to his room and then to his bed, where he pulls her down after him. 

“You helped me sleep before,” he says as he tucks her into his arms, readjusting the blanket she brought with her from her room around her shoulders. “Maybe I can help you.”

“Yeah,” she forces herself to say from around the tightness in her throat. The hand that isn’t clutching her pendant is placed against his chest; her fingers twine into his loose shirt as she avoids eye contact with him. She focuses instead on the skin of his bare arm and the muscles underneath. 

_ I love you, _ she thinks as she closes her eyes.  _ But not only you. That’s okay, isn’t it? _ Regardless, she knows that when her time is up, she’ll have to burn them all out of her heart. She doubts she’d be allowed to say as an exchange student. Asmodeus told her to seek her own pleasure, to take what she wanted. It’s easy enough to picture herself living happily with the demons while alone, without the constant interference of reality. Wrapped up in one of them as she is now, though, makes it a little more difficult to feel confident in her own ability to grab that happiness with both hands. 

_ But I can try, _ she thinks, turning in his arms so her back is pressed against his chest. He shifts a little away from her and she wonders if she’s accidentally elbowed him, but he settles again soon enough. 

“Thanks,” she tells him softly, murmuring the word into the arm that draped across her shoulders. She wonders what it says about her that she feels so safe with a demon, the niggling little thought a leftover from her human world preconceptions.  _ Maybe it’s his size _ , she thinks drowsily.  _ Hard to think something’s going to be able to get to you with a mountain of muscle in between. _

He murmurs something that sounds like it might be  _ no problem _ to her, but the blood rushing in her own ears makes it difficult to tell. 

“Belphie’s great for helping with bad dreams. I hope that you two can meet one day,” Beelzebub says after a while, and Eleanor stiffens under him before she can remind herself that she shouldn’t have a reaction. The desire to get the whole facade over with rises again, but she has to remind herself that she doesn’t want to hurt Beelzebub’s feelings.  _ He loves his brothers, _ she reminds herself.  _ I’m not going to break that. _

She hums so that she doesn’t have to say anything in response. 

* * *

She tiptoes around the House of Lamentation and then the Academy, waiting all day for Satan’s revenge. But he’s perfectly cordial all day, although he’s perhaps more teasing than normal, offering her taunting glances. It doesn’t help that she doesn’t actually know what to look for; she knows that he’s creative and devious. 

And in some strange way, she’s looking forward to seeing what he comes up with. She doubts that it will be anything  _ too _ drastic—she’s not Lucifer, after all. Maybe a spell of some sort to startle her. Maybe he’ll send a sprite to steal all of her pens. She’s expecting something like that all day, at least until they’re back at the House of Lamentation and Beelzebub asks to study with her. 

She’s certain, then, that he won’t let his brother get caught up in whatever puerile revenge he’s cooked up for the icing. And as the hours pass into late evening, she wonders if it’s the anticipation of the act alone that he’s made his revenge.

She’s wrong.

Satan’s revenge comes on feathered wings.

She doesn’t notice the raven at her window at first, not until Beelzebub points it out. It sits perched on the decorative outer sill, tapping at the warped glass with its beak. In one of its talons, it holds a small, paper-wrapped parcel.

“Did you order something off Akuzon?” Beelzebub asks as Eleanor stands to get closer to her window.

“No,” she says with a shake of her head as she unlatches her window to let the bird in. She’s seen Leviathan get packages enough to know that the birds were used sometimes, especially for rush shipments or things small enough for them to carry. When she opens her window, the bird drops its little parcel into her hands. 

“Are you going to open it?” He asks from his seat at her table. She turns the package over in her hands but can’t find any sender information.

“Think I should?” She asks, glancing up to see him nodding. “If it’s spiders or something, I’m going to absolutely lose my mind.” The twine holding the paper wrapping comes apart easily, followed quickly by the brown paper.

And that is when it explodes. 

There’s the popping noise of the spell activating, and her sudden intake of air and then her coughing fit as the white powder settles on her skin. Immediately, Beelzebub is at her side, pulling the packaging from her hands and sniffing it. From the packaging tumbles a note, which she snatches out of the air

_ What’s wrong with sweet? _ The note reads, and she knows  _ immediately _ who sent the package. 

“Satan,” she hisses as she takes in the sickly sweet smell of the powdered sugar coating her skin. 

“It’s sugar,” Beelzebub says as he sniffs the air. And he looks down at her and takes in the fact that she’s absolutely covered in it, the powdery white substance caking her skin and clothes. 

“Ugh,” she says because every little movement only dislodges even more, and it floats down to her floor to leave an outline of where she’s standing.  _ I think I’m going to have to climb into the bath, clothes and all, _ she thinks glumly, wondering if it will all wash out of the fabric easily or not; the last thing she wants to deal with is sticky clothing. “This is  _ so _ far beyond payback.”

But Beelzebub isn’t really paying attention to her, she notices when he hums. His mind is clearly on something else. And that is when she realizes she’s alone and covered in powdered sugar next to the Avatar of Gluttony—the very same one she’s seen eat some very questionable things just because they happened to be in front of him. He reaches out with a hand that easily covers half of her face and captures her chin between his fingers, tilting her head so her neck is exposed to him.

And then he licks her, the wide plane of his tongue leaving a sugar-sticky trail all the way up to her cheek. 

“Beel—” She starts, wondering if it’s wise to let him continue. 

“You taste good,” he interrupts her with a smile, his eyes soft. “Can I have some more?”

_ I should say no _ , she tells herself, but she holds her hand up to his mouth anyway and lets him press an open mouthed kiss against the back of it. She can feel the sweep of his tongue across her hand and then the inside of her wrist. 

“Wait,” she says. “You should know that yesterday I went on a date with Satan, and—”

“I know,” he hums against her skin, and that seems to be the extent of what he wants to say about it. “If you make him happy, and you make me happy,” he wipes some of the sugar from her face, “and we make you happy, then what’s the problem?”

“I—” her breath comes sharp when his teeth drag against the skin over her collarbone and his hands wrap around her waist to hold her steady. “There isn’t one?” She hates the way her voice is high-pitched and breathy already, but finds she doesn’t have the willpower to devote much thought to it. And then comes the worrying, fleeting thought that Satan somehow set it all up, plotted and planned it all out, but  _ no _ , she thinks while she can.  _ That doesn’t make any sense. Does it? _

His thumbs find their way under her the hem of her pants, asking permission before he touches her anywhere else. In response, she tugs at his belt.  _ Why does he wear so many, _ she thinks peevishly, trying and failing at first to pick it apart without looking. He captures her lips with his with an almost bruising force before he remembers himself and relents, which she supposes means there isn’t any more sugar on her face. 

The grains of sugar tumble down her torso as she tugs her shirt over her head, and she’s dimly aware of the mess she’ll have to clean up later. But it’s hard to care about much outside of the demon who seems determined to put his mouth everywhere but her own. He trail sticky, sloppy kisses down from her neck until he finds a nipple, palming her other breast with his lightly calloused hand. 

“Where,” he starts, but doesn’t finish his question as he pulls away from her. Her mind reels—where  _ what? _ —because he doesn’t seem inclined at all to continue speaking. 

“Beelzebub, I’m not psychic,” she says, tugging him away from her skin. He looks at her like she’s just taken his candy away. 

“Where do you want?” He asks, sinking to his knees so that she’s positioned above him. She pauses, and he blinks, blushing the slightest bit. “ _ Do _ you want?” He asks, the tone of his voice changing the question entirely, and Eleanor’s tense posture loosens immediately.  _ Fuck, yes, _ she thinks, following his lead and sinking down to his level after him. 

“I do,” she purrs, understanding his question now. “I’m—I trust you.” She reaches out and touches him; like before, he leans into her and closes his eyes. And the fact that he looks like he feels as safe with her as she does him fills her with wonderful warm feelings. She leans forward and presses a chaste kiss against his cheek, her hands resting against his upper thighs. 

He’s the one to pull back first, only to stand and bring her with him, peeling her leggings from her as he walks them over to the table in her room. 

He moves quickly. 

One moment she’s in his arms and in what feels like the very next, he has her sitting at the edge of her table, his head between her thighs with a surprised cry on her lips. He moves like a man starved, which she knows he is  _ not _ , and she tries not to buck into him. Her efforts are futile, and he holds a hand over her hip to keep her pressed into the table. 

“Beel,” she moans, trying to lean forward to fist a hand in his shirt; he allows the movement, but without looking she misses and her land hands in his hair. Her short tug only urges him forward and the tip of his nose brushes hard against her clit as he hooks one finger, and then two inside of her. With her head thrown back, she can see but not feel the way he pulls back and presses a smile high up into her inner thigh. 

Her leg twitches as she comes undone, jamming the meat of her hand into her mouth to muffle her cry. He surfaces and kisses a breast before he slides down her again, and she almost panics at the idea of his tongue against her so soon.

“Wait, wait, wait,” she breathes, guiding his head back up to her. “What about you?” He doesn’t say anything, just looks at her guardedly as she leans forward and palms the very obvious bulge in his pants.  _ Well, _ she thinks.  _ That’s certainly… daunting. He’s proportional. _ He notes the sudden stillness that comes over her and starts to draw away before she catches him. 

“Wait. Please,” she says, catching him by one of his belt loops. “Just… Lie down. On the bed, if you want. Please,” she says again, pressing a kiss to his sternum. 

He does, kicking off his pants as he does so, and Eleanor discovers that some small part of her hadn’t actually expected him to so as she asked. That small part of her is thrilled when he stretches out on her bed, taking up most of the room. She follows after him, kneeling over his hips, her knees on either side of him.

“I’m not teasing,” she says when she sees his mouth open. But she reaches down and strokes him, adding a little bit of untruth to her words. “Promise.”

“If you get hurt—”

“I won’t,” she cuts him off, kissing right beside one of his tight nipples. “And if I’m on top, then I can just hop off if I need to, right?”  _ It’s just a cock, _ she doesn’t tell him. “I’m not  _ that _ breakable,” she says instead. He considers her words and she sees him turning the idea over in his mind, spots the exact moment he decides he agrees with her. Beneath her, she reaches between them and lines herself up to take him. 

He grunts as his head enters her and she lets herself sink down further on him, his hands bunching in her sheets. She can feel herself stretching and know she’ll have to take it slow at first, and she tries not to let it show on her face. 

“See?” She coaxes as she slides down a little more, feeling herself almost reaching her capacity.  _ Just a little more, _ she thinks, watching his facial expression as she slides home and lets him take the majority of her weight. One of his hands finds her hips, urging her to move; she places a hand against his chest. 

“Wait a sec,” she tells him, wondering if she can get him to talk at all through the whole act. The fullness that he offers is something she has to get used to; she rolls her hips experimentally and shudders at the sensation. “Fuck,” she mutters, feeling the pleasure-pain sting that movement brings. But it fades as she continues, riding him as well as she can; when her legs start to ache, he offers assistance by sliding his hands under her ass to offer her more leverage. 

His assistance means that she can lean forward a little and massages little circles into his muscles, remembering how much he’d liked that after his workout. Her reward is the faint rumbling that she’s decided she loves, and she clenches around him experimentally, wondering if he’ll even feel it against how closely they already fit together.

He does.

A growl tears from him as he sits up quickly, almost unseating her. She yelps and he stills until she presses another kiss against his neck, feeling the way his Adam’s apple bobs against her lips.

“I’m fine,” she assures him. “Just surprised.” The expression on his face makes her laugh—he looks surprised, almost shocked—and she rolls her hips again, contracting the muscles deep within her. He groans out her name and she grins maniacally. 

“Like that?” She teases him gently, and he nips at her earlobe in response. 

“No teasing,” he reminds her as he pumps up into her and she gasps at the deeper intrusion. This only makes her double down on her efforts to draw his pleasure from him and she is rewarded, after a time, when he buries his face in her neck and groans, long and loud. She strokes the back of his head, carding her fingers through his hair as they breathe heavy together. He wraps his arms around her when she moves to get off, keeping himself seated deep within her. 

“I want a bath,” she tells him, tugging lightly on his hair. “I’m still covered in sugar. But,” she continues when shifting makes her wince, “I don’t think I’d mind if you carried me there.” It’s a relief to hear his laughter. 


	49. Confessions and Contemplation

“No more sending spells to my room if I have to clean up after them,” she tells Satan as she pushes the discarded packaging and twine into his hands. Not that she was particularly  _ upset _ at the result of his meddling, but… “I’m still finding sugar on my floor. Payback achieved. No more icing on your face.”  _ Probably. _

“But other spells are okay?” He asks, smiling at her. She scrunches up her face at him.

“I would kill to know just what the hell goes through your head, sometimes,” she tells him as he chucks the paper in the bin behind him.  _ And of course he’s not going to tell me, _ she thinks, not actually having expected differently. But what Beelzebub said to her last night has her nibbling on her lower lip as they walk to class, frowning in consternation.

“Do I make you happy?” 

He looks over at her suddenly, and she takes an abstract sort of pleasure in having elicited any sort of reaction from him at all. And what’s more, she realizes with a start, is that he’s actually considering her question. 

“I haven’t decided yet,” he says honestly, and she places both of her hands over her heart.    
“You wound me,” she tells him dramatically before sobering up. “Anyway. I was just curious. See you after class?” Eleanor shoulders her bag and turns away from him before he can answer. He watches her go, allowing himself to further contemplate her question. 

“Strange…” he says aloud to himself as he types a message to his brother. Satan sees no need to attend the class he’s scheduled for, not when he already knows the material and there are more pressing concerns. Asmodeus will likewise be easily persuaded to forego his own studies for the chance to scheme. 

As Satan waits in the empty classroom at the top of the Academy, he has to acknowledge that the human in their midst presents a unique problem—almost as unique as the opportunity she presents.

“I think we should find a way to keep her after the program ends,” Satan says as soon as Asmodeus takes his seat across from him at the student desk. Asmodeus looks confused only for a moment as he readjusts the ribbon around his neck.

“You do come up with the most  _ interesting _ ideas, Satan. What brought this on?” Asmodeus leans forward, his eyes alight with the prospect of a new plot. 

“She asked me if she makes me happy.”

“Oh? And does she?”

Satan breaks eye contact with his brother, trying to catalog what it is, exactly, that he’s feeling. It isn't the consuming conflagration that his wrath is. It’s warm, instead of searing. Mellow waters instead of a tsunami.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he hedges, and Asmodeus’s face cracks into a brilliant smile. Satan isn’t sure if the faint leer that accompanies it is worth getting angry over.

“Well, you’re not one to leave something like that alone,” Asmodeus acknowledges with a lazy wave of his hand as he pretends at a long-suffering sigh. “So, I suppose there’s no choice but to keep her. The only one I can see objecting to it is…”

“Lucifer,” Satan finishes his brother’s sentence, and Asmodeus nods in agreement. Satan considers the rest of his brothers again and frowns slightly. “Levi considers her a dear friend and will not want to see her leave at the end of the year either. But Mammon might pose a problem; he won’t want to share.”

“Scumbag,” Asmodeus says without much inflection behind the word. “Still, if the option is to either share her or lose her…” he pretends to weigh both options in his hands, indicating which he thinks the weightier option is, “I’m sure he’ll come around.” Satan nods in agreement, his fingers pinching at his chin in contemplation. 

“Still… We should probably ensure that she would  _ also _ like to stay,” he adds after a moment. “And since you can’t just charm her,” Satan watches his brother’s expression fall from excited to crestfallen, “it will have to be genuine. We’ll have to get everybody in agreement.” Asmodeus sighs deeply and picks at the imaginary lint on his jacket. Everything would be  _ much _ easier if she would only succumb to his charm; but still, Asmodeus muses, perhaps that’s what he likes about her so much. 

“Fine, fine. Let’s gather Beel and Levi first, and then we can all gang up on Mammon. Once he’s secured, we can all come up with a plan to endear Lucifer to her.” Satan raises a single eyebrow at his brother’s words. 

“And not her to him?” Satan scowls as Asmodeus smirks at him.

“That won’t be so difficult. I think we just need to help unleash his more… base instincts. But it still needs to be a team effort,” Asmodeus adds the last part glumly as Satan clears his throat. “I’ll go and collect Levi and Beelzebub, shall I? And then we can start discussions.” Satan nods solemnly in answer

* * *

All of the House of Lamentation demons have seemingly evaporated. Lucifer is with Diavolo in a meeting, but the rest have mysteriously disappeared; she’s sure they’re doing  _ something _ fun, and can’t help the slight sting at not being invited.  _ It doesn’t matter, _ she tells herself as she climbs the stairs to the attic to check on Belphegor, book from Satan in hand.

While he’s never looked exactly ecstatic to see her, he at least doesn’t scowl as often; she counts it as a victory as she settles down onto the floor and cracks the book open. She makes it at least two chapters in before she stops to look up, only to find his purple eyes looking right back at her.

She can tell that something is wrong with Belphegor. He’s irritated. Restless. His fingers drum against the floor as he stares at her with narrowed eyes. 

“Are you even trying to make a pact with Satan,” he asks, disdain clear in his voice. She closes the book she’s been reading aloud to him, confusion marring her face. “Because it seems like you aren’t. It  _ seems _ like you’re too busy trying to be  _ friends _ .” She sets the books down; his eyes don’t leave her face once. 

“Is that a problem?” She asks, verbally challenging him through the confines of his bars. She doesn’t want to be the first to look away. “That I’m friends with your brothers?”

“You’re  _ human, _ ” he spits, and her lips curl in distaste in return. His words fuel the spark of anger she’s been carrying against him ever since he first lied to her. 

“And, what, I’m not  _ allowed? _ You want me to make pacts with your brothers, but I’m not allowed to  _ like _ them? Newsflash, Belphegor,” she snaps, leaning close to the bars, “if you want out, I’m going to have to find some way to make a pact with Lucifer, too!” He snarls at the mention of his eldest brother, his fingers twitching as if he’d like very much to wrap them around her throat. Her eyes flick down to where they curl against the floor and her lips twist into a grimace of disdain. 

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you lied to me about that too, though,” she says softly. “You never actually did want to just talk to him, did you?”

His hateful silence is enough of an answer for her and she leans back with a nod. She runs her fingers through her hair, book forgotten at her knee. 

“Look, I can’t pretend to know what happened between the two of you, but I know it has something to do with Lilith—”

“Don’t you dare say her name,” he snarls in return, his hands slamming into the bars as if he thought he could reach through them to get to Eleanor. She regards him coolly. “You’re not worthy to have her name on your lips. No human is.”

“I know it has something to do with  _ Lilith _ ,” she continues, disregarding his rage. “And I know that her death hurts. Badly. You’re allowed to feel however you want about it, but… Has being pissed off at your brothers helped at all? Has dwelling on it? Has  _ fighting? _ If you keep picking that wound open, it’s never going to heal, Belphegor,” she says, her eyebrows furrowing. She wonders if he’s bothering to actually listen to her; his eyes are closed, so she can’t even tell if he’s still awake.

“I know what it’s like to hurt because of loss,” she confesses after a moment of silence falls between them. “But you have a great family. You should rely on them a little more; it’ll be good for all of you.” She keeps her voice low. Soft. Soothing, to match the way she’s trying to open up to him, knowing that’s the only way to get someone else to open up in return. 

“And what would any human know about loss?” He hisses in return, and her eyes fly open wide. “Or family? You’re mayflies—you barely have enough time to know  _ yourselves _ .” His words hit her like a punch to the gut and she stiffens, refusing to let him see her real reaction. “Don’t lecture me on being sad when you have nothing to be sad about.”

She takes in a heavy breath, squares her shoulders, and looks at him directly.

“Fuck you,” she says sharply and clearly. He looks shocked at her language, at least. “ _ Everyone _ has something that they’re upset over.  _ Everyone _ experiences loss. Get over yourself. I’m sorry that it happened, but  _ you’re not the only one _ .” She twists her fingers together so he can’t see how she’s trembling, keeps her eyes narrowed so that her traitorous tears aren’t quite as evident as they collect in her eyes. 

“I aged out of the system, Belphegor. Do you know what that _means?_ ” But she doesn’t give him any quarter to respond, continuing as if she hadn’t asked any question at all. “That means that from the time I entered it until the state decided I was an adult, I bounced around from house to house. For _years._ Alone. So I _know_ families—the good and the bad and the utterly _awful_ —and I know that yours is hurting from your absence, and I know that you’re taking yours for granted.” Her words fall like hot venom from her lips but her tears have dried, replaced by dry, crackling anger. She feels sick, unease curdling her stomach, but she pushes on anyway. 

“So whatever it is you decide to do, good luck. But I’m not going to help you tear apart your own family.” She stands, ignoring the way her heart pounds in her chest fuelled by her own rage. “Goodbye, Belphegor.”

He watches, seething, as she tucks the book under one of her arms and retreats down the stairs. 

* * *

She finds solace in the gym, where she can hit something without being judged for it. And she knows, even as her gloved fists hit against the hanging bag, that she’ll probably return to the attic sooner or later to apologize to Belphegor. 

_ But not right now, _ she thinks as she wipes some of the sweat from her eyes with the back of her arm.  _ Maybe not even this week _ . She knows that they both need time to cool down, and if she rushes to her apology she’ll only end up exploding on him again. 

By the time she leaves the gym and washes the result of her anger away, she feels much better. The beginnings of a plan bounce around in her mind, little more than wisps of an idea.  _ Maybe if I can get Lucifer to try and talk to him first… _ she tosses the idea around as she chews on her lower lip. 

_ It would help if I could talk to someone about it, _ she allows herself to acknowledge that much, at least.  _ But I can’t exactly walk up to any of the brothers and bring up the fact that I’ve been talking to Belphegor. Same with Simeon and Luke. And if I talk to Solomon, it’ll only get back to Asmo… _ She groans and throws herself onto her bed, breathing in the scent of detergent from her freshly laundered sheets. Being in the Devildom and its unrelenting darkness has absolutely destroyed whatever sense of time she arrived with, so she knows it’s late when she curls up around one of her pillows, but not the exact time. 

“Hey, human,” Mammon bellows as he shoulders her door open, hands occupied with two cups of his favorite instant noodles. “Wake up! I made noodles,” he announces, pushing one of the cups into her hands. She laughs lightly and glances down at her phone, only to see that it’s just a little after midnight.

“You’re up and full of energy,” she tells him. “Did those witches summon you again?”

He scowls into his noodles as he sits heavily on her bed, causing her to bounce a little. A quick hand over her cup prevents the broth from spilling over onto her sheets. 

“Not  _ my _ fault those witches decide the brat needs something at weird hours,” he says as he shoves noodles into his mouth. She almost chokes on her own as his words hit her.

“ _ Brat? _ ” She coughs, pounding against her own chest with a closed fist. “You have a  _ kid? _ ”  _ Five thousand years old… _ she thinks to herself, eyeing him.  _ I guess it would be more unlikely that they  _ don’t, _ but… _

“What? Woah, wait a minute,” he says, holding his free hand out to her, palm perpendicular to the ground. “You got it all wrong! Look, I know the Great Mammon is cool and all, but I’m also pretty damn magnanimous. I found this little kid up in the human world who needed some help, and I kinda took her under my wing ‘cause she ain’t got family to look after her. ‘Cept, I couldn’t exactly bring her back down  _ here _ , so the witches are takin’ care of her. I just send stuff up for her when they ask for it—like some sorta anonymous angel. Or, I guess it’d be ‘anonymous devil’, wouldn’t it?”

She stares at him. She can’t help it. “Do your brothers know…?” She can’t imagine that they do—or at least, she  _ hopes _ that they don’t because to think otherwise would mean that every time they make fun of him they’re also making fun of this action. Her lips turn downwards at the thought.

“Tch, there’s no way I could tell them,” he says as he places his half-empty cup on her bedside table and lays down, staring up at the branches of her tree.. “Wouldn’t believe it anyway. They’d just make fun of me and say I wasn’t the sort to do that kinda stuff. Anyway it’s not like I’m doin’ it because I want the recognition.” He crosses his arms behind his head and breathes in the scent of his human, letting the silence of her presence wash over him. But the silence stretches further and he decides that he doesn’t like it.

“Oi, say somethin’,” he tells her, cracking an eye open in her direction. “You’re bein’ too quiet.” She jumps at his order, her hands tight against her cup of noodles, her mind whirring with the new information he’d given her and the messy feelings it inspires.

“I love you,” she blurts out, so fast that she can’t stop herself and he almost can’t make out her words. There’s a moment of silence that stretches between her heartbeats before she realizes what she’s just said. Mammon sits up so fast that he almost cracks his forehead into hers.

“I’m sorry. Never mind!” She says from behind one hand and one cup of noodles when she feels the bed beneath her shift. “You don’t have to say anything back!” She tells him because she thinks he’s standing to leave, that she’s scared him off. She’s not prepared for him to pry her hand away from her face or for the self-satisfied grin he wears.

“Of course you do,” he says as he beams at her. “It’s totally understandable that I’d make your heart go all pitter-patter, you know?” His bravado does nothing to mask the furious blush creeping across his face, almost red enough to match hers. And she’s no longer sure if she’s the only one shaking. She leans forward and presses the top of her head against his chest so he can’t see her face

“You could… Stay here, ya know,” he tells her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “At the end of the program.”

She breathes heavily and squeezes her eyes shut. Remembers the terms of the exchange program—that all involved go back to their own realm with the implicit threat of terrible consequences if they don’t. She shakes her head, the slightest suggestion of movement. 

“I can’t,” she tells him, her voice tight. There’s heartbreak there in her voice if he would choose to listen for it. “I have to go back at the end. I’m not allowed to stay.”

He frowns. Almost opens his mouth to complain, almost pulls her down against her mattress to  _ show _ her why she should stay, to show her things he doesn’t know how to put into words. Instead, he remains still. The hand that isn’t holding her against him finds his phone and opens the chat client.

**_I’m in_ ** is the message that he sends to five of his brothers. If for no other reason than to get Lucifer to break the rules. 


	50. Snapshots

_She is four and her best friend is Lily. Lily has big, beautiful wings and sings her lullabies when she can’t sleep. Lily knows all of the very best hiding places when she plays hide and go seek with the other kids. None of the adults believe that Lily is real; they call her an imaginary friend, which does nothing to shake Eleanor’s belief in her constant companion. Because Lily keeps her safe. She knows she does._

* * *

It’s the stray glances that she notices first. The ones from the other side of the classroom or across the dinner table. When she’s trying to study in the library or playing games with Leviathan. She thinks she’s imagining it, at first, until she starts keeping track. 

“Do I have something on my face?” She asks peevishly, pushing her stack of books away. With exams coming up, she’d normally enjoy the relative quiet, but…

“Just your natural beauty,” Asmodeus says as he sticks his fork into the dessert he got to post on Devilgram. “Open up!”

“Wh—” But she can’t finish her sentence before the lump of cheesecake is in her mouth, and she either has to swallow or choke. She frowns at him as she swallows, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “What was that for?” 

“You’re just so cute!” He says, leaning close to her to snap a quick selfie. She can’t see it, but she’s sure that he looks as radiant as ever while she looks absolutely nonplussed. But she notes that he’s successfully managed to avoid answering her original question, so she swipes at her face when she thinks he isn’t looking. Just in case. “I still can’t believe I made a pact with you, you know. I mean, this is _me_ we’re talking about—me, making a pact with a human who isn’t Solomon! It’s been _so_ long since I’ve felt this way—this _connection._ ”

She isn’t sure if that’s an innuendo or not. Just like she’s not quite sure if she should be offended by his words.

“Stop makin’ is creepy,” Mammon complains from her other side. “And just so you know, if you've got a special connection with Eleanor, then _so do I!_ And Beel and Levi, too—but I was first!” He puffs out his chest, and Eleanor covers her eyes with her hands. 

“‘So don’t go gettin’ any ideas into that head of yours—she doesn't belong to just you!’ Is what you really want to say, right?” Leviathan asks, and Eleanor peeks out from between her fingers at the perfect imitation he’d just executed of his brother. 

“What’s gotten into you? _All_ of you? And don’t say that I belong to anyone,” she shoots at Leviathan, still peeking out from between her fingers. 

“Nothing at all, of course!” Asmodeus says, his cheek pressed against hers. “Just that you’ve been spending a _lot_ of time studying lately. Maybe we’re feeling a little neglected?” He pouts. Eleanor pulls her hands away from her face to shoot a glare at him from the corner of her eyes. 

“I have exams!” She protests. “And so do all of you, actually.” But that fact doesn’t seem to bother them, and she wonders if that’s because Asmodeus and Leviathan are able to skate by on whatever their current grades are and if Mammon has already given up on his entirely. 

“Ooh, if you’re that concerned, then I suppose we could always form a study group,” Asmodeus says innocently. “Whatever your methods, they certainly seemed to work on Mammon that one time!”

She punches him lightly on his arm. 

* * *

_She is eight and knows better now; just as the adults said, Lily was an imaginary friend. Eleanor hasn’t seen her in years, no matter how hard she looks._

_Someone runs their fingers through her hair. Wipes her tears away. Although Eleanor will not remember the action, she remembers the sensation._

_“I don’t want to move again,” she sniffles as she leans back to almost catch a glimpse of white feathers. Her case worker in the front seat sighs._

_“That was not a good home,” says a voice that sounds like wind chimes. But it’s no use; neither of the humans in the car can hear her._

_“There were complications with your placement,” the woman driving says, sounding as if she’s practiced the phrase a thousand times infront of her mirror. She avoids eye contact with the girl in the back not because she doesn’t care, but because she does._

_“I will protect you,” says the unheard voice as its owner presses a kiss onto Eleanor’s hairline. But the girl brushes the sensation off as a draft from the car window, cracked open slightly to let the summer air in._

* * *

“Don’t laugh,” Leviathan tells her seriously as he pulls up a chair beside his at his desk. “But I’ve always wanted to be a Deviltuber.”

She doesn’t laugh. Instead, she smiles and sits down at the chair.

“Oh, neat,” she says. “I think you’d be good at that. Have you made an account yet?”

“N-no. I was hoping that maybe you’d… help me?” She doubts that he actually needs her help; she doesn’t actually know much of anything about setting up an online presence with the aim of becoming a personality. 

“I can help. Have a username in mind? What are you going to do? Ooh, you know, there are a lot of channels in the human realm just dedicated to games and shows and stuff—are you doing something like that?”

He is, and she’s delighted to hear it. Eventually, they both settle on a name for his channel and bicker about what should go in his bio section.

“You’re not allowed to call yourself a ‘yucky otaku’ in your own description,” she huffs, pulling his keyboard away from him. “Look, how about…” She pauses to type, pressing her lips together in thought as she does so. Leviathan watches as words appear on the screen in front of him, gently correcting some of her Devilish grammar as she types.

“That—that could work,” he mutters, face red. There’s not a trace of derision or mockery in anything she wrote; instead, she called him _knowledgeable_ and _passionate_ and he hopes that’s how she actually sees him.

“Oh, wait. Before you tell your brothers about it…” she pauses and his heart sinks, fearing that she might be about to warn him off of that action. She picks up her phone and pokes around at it for a few moments, not letting him see her screen. A notification pops up at the bottom right corner of his screen. 

“I want to be your first subscriber!”

* * *

_She is eleven and takes the news of her imminent departure with blank-faced stoicism. Her foster mother crushes her in a hug as her foster father pats her on the head._

_“We’re so sorry, baby, but it just didn’t work out.” Eleanor nods robotically at her foster father’s words, hearing them and rejecting them all at the same time._ It’s always the same, _she thinks,_ they want me until they don’t. _Hope that her newest placement might take her in—forever—is crushed almost as soon as it’s born. Her mother’s job is taking them out of the country, and they cannot afford to stay behind while the adoption goes through._

_“It’s dangerous to stay in one place for too long,” her guardian angel says, unheard._

* * *

She lays awake on her bed, the chain around her neck dangling from her fingers as she studies the nazar. With exam preparations underway and most of the demon brothers acting so oddly, she hasn’t had much of an opportunity to study it. Just like she’s not sure how or when she’s managed to chip it, but she has.

There’s a deep divot right in the dark center of it, tiny hairline fractures spiraling out to almost reach the edge of it. But it hasn’t broken just yet—and she’s not sure she wants to find out what happens when it does. Every time she goes to ask someone about it, something always interrupts. Satan has a new book he’d like her to read. Leviathan wants to talk about video ideas. There’s a new lotion that Asmodeus wants to try out. Beelzebub found a new recipe he wants her to try. Mammon is… Mammon. 

He hasn’t said anything to her about what she said, which she can’t fault him for; she’d asked him not to, after all. _But still…_ She thinks as she lets the pendant go. _Maybe it’s unfair of me to still want that. He is a demon, after all. They all are._ But then she thinks of how warm almost everyone’s become, and she twists at the rings on her fingers. 

* * *

_She is sixteen and head of her class, feeling each passing moment as another weight around her neck. She knows that eighteen is coming soon. And after that, twenty-one. Soon, she knows, she will have nothing unless she can prove her own worth._

_“You shouldn’t fight like that,” she tells the older kids in the house—she’s still the oldest by a year or two, though, and so they typically bow to her authority. “You’re scaring the little kids. You know better than to make it worse for them than it already is.”_

_She slips into the mediator role easily. Pretends like she has the answers that she doesn’t really have. Finds solutions in abstract ways. In this manner, at least, she can help everyone to find some peace._

* * *

“I’ve just been having weird dreams,” she says as she stirs more milk and sugar than is healthy into her coffee. It’s a pale brown instead of the deep black that most of the other demons prefer theirs as; she doesn’t understand how they can stand the bitter taste all the time. 

“Not _bad_ , just weird,” she clarifies when she sees Mammon flinch out of the corner of her eye. “It’s probably just a little bit of stress from exams. I have to ace them, right?” She laughs, but nobody laughs along with her. A few of them roll their eyes—Mammon and Leviathan prime among them—while Lucifer just nods in agreement. 

“Just don’t become _too_ boring,” Asmodeus whines. “When exams are over, we’ll all have to do something exciting, right?”

She’s not sure if she should trust the glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

* * *

_She is twenty and exhausted from classes that never end and her part-time jobs. Grants and scholarships and government assistance can only get her so far, and she knows that it isn’t far enough. Not yet._

_So she stays up late, filling out more paperwork than she thinks is reasonable, all in the hopes of finding more grants, finding more scholarships, so that_ when _she graduates (it isn’t a question of if, not to her. She will beat the odds) she isn’t immediately cast into the deep ocean of debt. Barely awake, she fills out the odd little questionnaire on thick parchment. She’s too bleary-eyed to properly read what it says; she’s not even sure who would have dropped it in her mail slot because she’s never heard of this organization before._

_When she tucks herself into bed in the early hours of the morning, her guardian angel makes sure her application makes it to where it needs to be._

* * *

“Perhaps Asmodeus is right,” Lucifer muses as they all—sans Leviathan, who stayed home to complete online classes—walk back to the House of Lamentation. “There should be a celebration tomorrow. Provided everyone passes their exams.” His eyes slide over to Mammon, who protests the singling out immediately. 

“Oi! Pick on the human! She’s been studyin’ like mad—so mad that even I, the Great Mammon, have had to step in and help!” There’s laughter from Asmodeus and Satan at the statement, and Lucifer drops back behind the group to pull his phone out of his pocket. He frowns.

* * *

_“What are these dreams?” She asks the blurry figure to her back._

_“Are they dreams?” The figure returns with her wind chime voice as she pulls a brush through her human’s hair. Eleanor looks down, curling each finger as she counts it. Halfway through, she loses track._

_“Yes, they are.” Her voice is firm. Certain. She tries to look at her surroundings and the void that they’re in threatens to swallow her up. But it isn’t cold. And it’s isn’t necessarily dark, either. She’d call it grey but for the fact that she knows that isn’t quite true; the void is full of colors she can’t name, colors she could only hope to see in her dreaming state, and_ grey _is the best explanation she can come up with._

_“You will be okay. I will protect you,” the figure says, pulling the brush through Eleanor’s hair one last time. Eleanor turns to look and sees a figure almost too bright to look at. The beams of light shining from her give off the impression of vast white wings._

_“I think you said that before,” Eleanor tells her doubtfully._

_“In a dream,” the angel says, amused. She reaches out and places her hands on Eleanor’s shoulders; in her brightness, her closeness, she’s difficult to look at. “I have done what I can for you, but I am fading.”_

_“Fading?”_

_“I was made human, once. But a celestial soul is nigh immutable, and so that much I retained. I’ve forgotten how to return,” the angel confesses. “I have one more miracle left, I think, before I… fade.” It isn’t death, but a transformation. A change. A release back into the aether of the human world she loved so much. These things she does not tell her human charge, knowing that she won’t remember them when she wakes anyway. Not until it’s too late; she’s set things in motion that cannot be undone._

* * *

Eleanor slows down herself, not wanting to leave anyone behind. The little lizard charm is still dangling on his phone and catches her eye. Lucifer answers the phone, catching the direction of her gaze; he offers her a small smirk before his attention is pulled to the other end of the line.

“Levi?” He asks as his brows furrow. “It’s me. Is there something wrong?” There’s shouting on the other end of the line loud enough that even Eleanor hears it. “... Hey. Levi… Are you there?”

 _Uh-oh_ , Eleanor thinks, still staring up at him. _If even Lucifer is worried, then that’s not good…_

“We should get back to the house…” she starts, but he’s already well ahead of her, gathering his brothers with a sharp directive. 


	51. The Demon House

Leviathan’s room is lit solely by his blinking electronics, the soft blue pall casting an eerie glow among the occupants. There wasn’t any sign of him in any of the places she’s looked, and none of the demons look like they’ve been particularly successful, either. 

“Did you find Levi?” Lucifer asks, his arms crossed as if he’s annoyed. By the hard, tense lines of his back, though, Eleanor suspects his worry far outweighs his irritation.

“No. He wasn’t anywhere we looked, at least.” At Satan’s side, Eleanor hugs her elbows to herself.  _ It’s really not like Levi to go missing… _ “Are you certain that it was Levi that called you earlier?”

“It was definitely him. The call was from his D.D.D., and I heard him scream just before we got cut off. It was his voice, I’m sure of it.” One of the muscles in Lucifer’s jaw tightens.

“And after searching the rest of the house and coming back, we found his D.D.D. laying on the ground, while Levi himself was nowhere to be seen… Curious.” Satan doesn’t seem to be overly bothered by his brother’s disappearance, and Eleanor stares at him, wondering what could have possibly come over him. 

“And he hasn’t come back to his room,” Asmodeus says with a sigh.

“It seems plausible that he decided to go out somewhere,” Lucifer says, as if trying to convince himself of his own words. Eleanor shakes her head, not convinced of the proposed situation. 

“Yeah, I bet he went out to some store to wait in line all night for whatever new game or DVD is coming out tomorrow. That’s gotta be it, right?” Eleanor shakes her head again at Mammon’s words.

“But he hasn’t said anything about—”

“Ooh, yeah, he  _ would  _ do something like that,” Asmodeus says. “When Lucifer said he heard him scream before the call got cut off, I thought maybe something bad had happened to him, you know? Ugh. I got worried over nothing…”

“He wouldn’t just leave his phone behind!” Eleanor protests loudly, drawing the attention of the demons around her.

“He probably just forgot about it,” Mammon says, sounding as unconcerned as Asmodeus and Satan. She stares at him with wide eyes, unable to comprehend his sudden cavalier attitude towards his brother’s potential disappearance. Her incredulous stare turns to Asmodeus when he suggests calling off the search.

“Wait a minute,” Lucifer says, looking at those assembled in the room. He wears a frown. “What about Beel? Where did he go?” Asmodeus throws his hands up into the air, exasperated.

“I’ve had just about enough of this! We’ve seen searching for Levi for  _ ages _ already, and in case none of you are aware, staying up late is the bane of healthy skin!”

Lucifer glares at his younger brother. “Fine. You go to sleep. The rest of us will stay up looking for Levi and Beel.” Eleanor nods emphatically. 

“Wait, no. I didn’t—”

“I don’t know about Levi, but Beel at least has to be somewhere inside the house.” Lucifer interrupts Asmodeus. “We’ll split up and search for him. Satan and Eleanor, you’re with me.” She feels Lucifer’s gloved hand land on her shoulder and squeeze a little, and she can’t tell if it’s meant to be comforting or to keep her from dashing out of the room in pursuit of either of his missing brothers. 

“Hey, woah!” Mammon protests, crossing his arms. “If we’re splittin’ up, then it should be Lucifer, Satan, and Asmo in one group, and me and Eleanor in the other!” He gestures between himself and the human in front of him. Eleanor doesn’t particularly care who she searches with as long as they search; but privately, she’s not so sure it’s a good idea to split up in the first place.  _ First Levi disappears, _ she thinks, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.  _ And then Beel, while in the middle of searching for Levi… _

“Ugh, who cares? Come on, moron. Let’s go.” Asmodeus grabs Mammon by the back of his neck and drags him away; Mammon complains loudly the whole time. Lucifer leads them all out of Leviathan’s room, and Eleanor follows closely behind.

“Lucifer, what’s going through your head?” Satan asks once they’re out in the hallway; Lucifer pauses and looks around him as if either of his brothers might manifest in the air. 

“I was thinking about the stories they used to tell about the House of Lamentation,” he says, deep in thought.  _ Stories? _ Eleanor mouths, not quite wanting to actually ask the question. 

“What a coincidence! So was I,” Satan says, and when Eleanor turns to look at him, he has a wide smile on his face. Eleanor doesn’t think it’s appropriate. He doesn't look particularly comforting, so Eleanor shifts closer to Lucifer. 

“I have to say, they’re pretty interesting. If you’re curious to hear about them, I’m happy to oblige,” Lucifer says, looking down at Eleanor from the corner of his eye. She misses the faint smile at the corner of his lips when she quickly shakes her head. He continues anyway. 

“It was long ago, back before this place was even called the House of Lamentation,” he starts, and Eleanor wraps herself in a tight hug and shoots an irritated glare at him. He continues his story as they walk, spinning a tale of murder and deception and the ghosts that are said to walk the halls. At the mention of ghosts, Eleanor feels sick; she hadn’t liked Grisella at all, and took pains while on the train to stay away from both her and the body she’d left behind. 

“So at some point,” Lucifer concludes, “the house was given a name. ‘The House of Lamentation,’ they called it.” Eleanor shudders, thinking of the hanged man he described earlier, twisting in the breeze in the planetarium. 

“Why would you tell me that story,” she snaps, her knuckles now white around her upper arms. They’re downstairs in the main hall, and Eleanor is grateful for the bright, warm lights that illuminate the area. 

Until they blow out all at once, as if on cue.

She yelps in surprise, jumping backwards; Satan laughs and places both of his hands on her shoulders, steadying her so she doesn’t fall down in the darkness. 

“What?” She snaps at him as Lucifer summons a new witch light. Satan doesn’t let go of her, and she cannot see his expression. 

“I’m just thinking that as fearless as you seem to be, even you get scared sometimes,” he says, clearly still amused. It only makes Eleanor scowl, which he can see as he turns her to look at him. “You live amongst some of the most infamous demons in the Devildom, and yet it’s the thought of some random ghosts what scares you.”

“So?” She’s irritated that he’s right. His expression softens as he looks down at her and his lips part slightly. 

“I know that this isn’t the best time for me to ask this, but…” He trails his hands down her arms until he reaches her hands, which he holds. “Eleanor, would you agree to make a pact with me?”

She stares up at him. Blinks. “Something fishy is going on here,” she announces, not tearing her eyes away from him. 

“What? I thought you’d be happy.” Satan laughs lightly, but there’s a shade of confusion in his eyes. His gaze flicks over to Lucifer and Eleanor follows to see that he’s watching the two of them carefully, his arms crossed, his face composed and neutral. “Lucifer, just so we’re clear, I’m not doing this out of some desire to make you angry. It’s not about that,” Satan says, and his words startle Eleanor enough that her focus is completely consumed by him again. There’s a beat of silence, and then Eleanor can hear Lucifer shift behind them.

“I know; that much I can tell just from the look on your face,” Lucifer says. In the soft light cast by Lucifer’s witch light, Eleanor thinks she catches the hint of a blush sweep across Satan’s face. He holds her hands tight again and gazes into her eyes.

“Eleanor, a lot has happened these last few days—weeks, perhaps—and…” He pauses. Almost visibly deflates before he looks back up at Lucifer. “I can’t do this with you standing right there, Lucifer. Give us a little privacy. I don’t want you hearing this.” Satan’s last sentence is quiet, as if he doesn’t actually want his brother to hear him admit it. 

Lucifer  _ chuckles _ , which confuses Eleanor utterly. She doesn't think she’s ever heard him make that noise before. 

“Eleanor… It’s not often that I see Satan in a state like this,” he says, and even though she hasn’t turned to look at Lucifer, she can hear the grin in his voice. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve  _ ever _ seen him like this!”

“ _ Lucifer!” _ Satan snaps, and Eleanor can clearly see the deep red brush across his cheeks now. She squeezes his hands slightly in comfort and wonders if she actually woke up earlier that morning, or if this whole thing has been a bizarre dream.

“All right, all right,” Lucifer says as he steps away. “I’ll respect your wishes, Satan. I’ll be over here if you need me.” Satan scoffs and then mumbles a quiet thanks; Eleanor can feel her own heart thundering at the pulse points in her neck.

“Where was I…?” Satan breates as he picks his gaze up from the floor to look at Eleanor again. He clears his throat. “A lot has happened, and after everything we went through, I made a decision. I decided that I won’t let who Lucifer is and what he does bother me anymore. You heard what Grisella said: you have to accept the hand fate deals you no matter what. What matters is  _ how _ you handle it.”

Her hands tighten around his at the mention of the witch’s spirit.

“I can’t go back and change the circumstances of my birth, but how I choose to live my own life has nothing to do with Lucifer.” He squeezes her hands back. “... It’s funny. When I say it like that, it all sounds so simple. The entire reason I was able to face my issues is because of you, Eleanor. You’re the one who helped me to be honest with Lucifer… And with myself as well. You want to make a pact with me, don’t you?”

His question steals the breath from her lungs. “I…” She pauses. Remembers that the only reason she even set out to make so many pacts was because of Belphegor, the demon she doesn’t even want to think about at the moment. But she also remembers the conspicuous brother-shaped hole in Satan’s family. 

“Well, it just so happens that I don’t like owing people favors,” he says with a cheeky smile. “So if this ends up helping you like you helped me, then I’d like to make a pact with you. Okay?”

“Okay,” she breathes, feeling a little numb. He holds her gaze for a beat too long before he opens his mouth again. 

“I am Satan, Avatar of Wrath,” he calls out into the air. “I pledge myself to you, Eleanor, that we may be bound by an unbreakable pact. This I swear to you on both my name as well as the very blood that runs through my veins.” She feels the magic settle around her and the flare of heat that signifies a new ring and has enough time to think  _ those almost sound like marriage vows _ — _ do demons get married? _ — _ were they all supposed to say that? _ Before he leans down and presses a kiss against her lips. She gasps in surprise. He doesn’t take advantage to gain entrance; he only leans back and looks at her, his face still red as he drops her hands.

For a moment she thinks that he might say something, but then two screams tear through the air. 

“That sounded like Mammon and Asmo,” Satan says, and Lucifer nods.

“Those screams came from the portrait room. Come on, let’s go,” Lucifer orders as he leads the way. Eleanor hurries after him, feeling Satan just behind her. Too many thoughts swirl through her mind to catalog them or to even try to figure out what they are; she twists the new golden ring around her finger nervously.

“They aren’t here,” Lucifer announces after a quick sweep of the room. “Let’s head back upstairs. I’ll take the lead.”

“Eleanor, you follow behind Lucifer. I’ll bring up the rear… Something isn’t right.” She nods in agreement but wishes he would let her hold her hand as they all ascend the stairs. “First Levi, then been, and now Mammon and Asmo have vanished, too. Could they be hiding somewhere? Or could it be that…?” He trails off.

“Could it be that  _ what, _ Satan? … Satan?” Eleanor stops on the stairs and turns to look behind her, only to find empty air where the demon should have been. “Lucifer,” she snaps, worry and fear making her voice sharp. He stops and turns to look at her. 

“So Satan has disappeared now as well,” he says grimly, deep in thought. “Levi was the first to disappear, wasn’t he? Let’s return to his room.” He takes a step away and Eleanor grips the banister tight, as if that might keep her from vanishing too. “What’s wrong? If you’re feeling scared, I’d be happy to hold your hand.” She stares at the hand he’s holding out for a moment before reaching out and sliding her fingers between his.

“Thanks,” she says softly, the connection making her feel more grounded as he tightens his grip.

“Saying what you really feel is a good quality to have,” he tells her as she climbs the stairs to stand behind him. Her other hand grips the fine fabric of his sleeve as if she’s afraid he’s going to evaporate at any moment. “Let’s go,” he says as he pushed Leviathan’s door open.

The room is still empty. Electronics still blink in the dim light.

“His monitor is on,” Eleanor notes, nodding to it rather than loosen the grip both of her hands have on the demon. They step carefully over Leviathan’s things until they both stand in front of Leviathan’s desk.    
“He left his PC running. What  _ am _ I going to do with him?” Lucifer muses as he shakes the mouse to wake the machine. “Or wait, perhaps it wasn’t intentional. Perhaps he didn’t have time to turn it off because whatever happened to him was very sudden?”

Eleanor likes that option even less than she likes the game screen that opens before them. 

“ _ The Demon House, _ ” Lucifer reads out. “Sounds like a horror game. ‘A cursed house with an ominous past. It is said that an entire family was once murdered inside these walls. Now suddenly, one by one, the people you live with are starting to disappear…’ How foolish.” Lucifer drops the game box on Leviathan’s desk. “That’s the exact situation we find ourselves in; Levi’s gotten into a bad habit of buying himself these strange games…”

He doesn’t need to voice his thoughts because she feels the same: that they’ve somehow found themselves inside of another one of Leviathan’s games.

“What do you think happens if we just… turn off the computer?”

“Worst case scenario, Levi and the others might never come back to us if we do that,” Lucifer replies with a frown. “I suppose we should go ahead and try to complete the game and see what happens. I’ll look for a guide online, but let's return to the library. It’s more… comfortable,” he says as he opens a browser page on his phone. Eleanor walks in silence beside him, refusing to give up his hand. 

“‘In order to complete the game, you must defeat the demon that serves as the final boss,’” Lucifer reads to her once they’re safely in the library. Eleanor has never been so happy to see a roaring fireplace in her life. “It says the Boss’s name is Lucifer. How ridiculous—they must think they’re very funny naming him something like that.”

Eleanor snorts and he looks over at her. 

“So, that means I am likely the boss, and you’re the player character. If you can defeat me, you’ll win the game.” He glances at her as if mentally calculating her chances of ever defeating him in anything before returning to the screen of his D.D.D. “... Hold on. There’s a page here on how to get the  _ true _ ending to the game. ‘There are a number of conditions that must be satisfied. But if you can manage to do it, you’ll be treated to a romantic ending where you and Lucifer actually fall in love.” Lucifer reads out the text as if it’s physically painful for him, and Eleanor groans, shying away from the demon.  _ I’m going to have a very serious talk with Levi about assigning people as main characters, _ she thinks, her heart beating a frantic pace.  _ Once all of this is over. _

“Oh, come on,” Lucifer scoffs, echoing her thoughts. “This is what it comes down to, then; we have to finish this ridiculous game. Either you defeat me, or… We have to fall in love with each other.” He pins her with an inscrutable look that she’s not sure how to interpret at all, but it makes her legs feel weak anyway. 

“Pardon me for saying this, but I find it very difficult to believe that you could ever defeat me in a battle. And if I caused your death because of something like this, I’d never be able to face Diavolo again. So, it seems that our only choice is to fall in love with each other…” Lucifer sighs. Eleanor wonders if she should be offended at his reaction or not.

“Because that worked out so well the  _ first time, _ ” she bites out, furious and hurt and a little afraid.

“What do we do?” She asks after nothing but silence passes between them for a time. 

“I don’t know,” Lucifer confesses, which makes her look hard at him. “Listen, Eleanor, I was thinking… What if we simply leave things as they are? That wouldn’t be so bad, right? If we decided to give up now, then it would only mean that the others wouldn’t return to us, right? Do we even need the others?”

She looks at him like she’s waiting for him to spring a trap. “They’re your brothers,” she points out, her eyes narrowed. “Of course we need them.”

“... Right,” he says, and looks away from her. “I suppose we don’t have a choice. Let’s start with the fundamentals of love and then go from there. If you want to develop feelings for someone, you both need to start by getting to know each other. Isn’t that right?”

Eleanor stares at him incredulously.  _ Fundamentals of love? He sounds like a textbook… _ He turns back to her and she tries to hide her expression from him but fails.

“I’ll start by asking you questions.” He says it like a threat. “Answer  _ honestly. _ How do you really feel about what’s going on right now?”

Nervous laughter escapes her before she can pull it back. “I mean, it’s… whatever,” she says, her voice too tight and too high. 

“Hmm.” He looks her up and down. “Next question. Which one of us brothers are you interested in?” He says it easily, and she feels like she might die from embarrassment.

“You really go right for the throat, don’t you? Pass.” She buries her face in her hands so that he at least can’t see her furious blush, the one she’s sure is creeping down her neck.  _ I don’t even know how to answer that! _ She thinks, panicked. 

“Well, I suppose you should ask me a question,” he finally says ,eventually taking pity on her. She doesn’t respond immediately, and so he continues. “You may never get another chance to do this, you know. So make sure you choose your question carefully.” It’s his gentle teasing that allows her to look up at him. She’s glad for the coffee table between them. 

“Fine, then. What’s your type?” She’s not sure what compels her to ask; it’s a silly question and she knows it.

“Hmm, good question,” he says, making a show of tapping his lips with a single finger. “Someone pure, genuine, and worthy of respect. I’m not sure you’re aware of this, but demons are most attracted to the souls of people like that.” He pins her with his red eyes as if he can actually see her soul, and it’s the most exposed she’s ever felt in her entire life. 

“Oh, but I suppose you asked what type of  _ person _ I like, not what type of soul… I wonder.” Eleanor kind of wants to hit him. “Anything else you’d like to ask?”

She frowns at how cavalier he’s acting, but then nods. “How about humans? What do you think of humans?”  _ This whole thing is a bust if he can’t stand them anyway. Maybe if I sneak attack… _

“What do I think of  _ humans? _ Oh, no. I don’t think that’s what you really want to ask. What you really mean is ‘what do you think of  _ me, _ ’ right?”

“No—”

“What do I think of you…?” He continues as if she hadn’t tried to speak at all. The haughty look he throws her tells her that he’s about to impart knowledge and that she’d better pay attention. “Well, you’re an exchange student from the human world. When you first arrived, I thought that all I had to do was to make sure you survived a year here without any incidents, being careful to ensure that you didn’t get yourself eaten by some random demon somewhere. But it hasn’t been so easy. You do what you want, unafraid of the consequences, and you constantly stick your nose into others’ business… And in the end, you made pacts with my brother one by one. Why  _ did _ you do that, anyway?” He leans closer to her and she swallows hard. 

“To be completely honest, you’ve been a real pain to deal with.” Lucifer sighs. Eleanor opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts her off. “But you’re also very special… More special than you are difficult, I think. You have a strange effect on my brothers and me; I think that perhaps it’s for the best. Eleanor, the truth is that I…”

He pauses, and Eleanor clutches a pillow from the couch close to her chest, wanting to bury her face in it but not wanting to look away from Lucifer. He swallows hard and is, miraculously, the first to look away. 

“Is there anything else you’d like to ask?” He says, and she doesn’t think she’s imagining the slight rawness in his voice. The room is quiet, aside from the crackling of the fire, her own heartbeat in her ears, and the deep breath she takes to steady herself.

“In the interest of honesty, I… I want you to make amends with Belphegor. If you can.”

It feels like time stops for a moment when his head snaps up to her face, and then the fire gutters in the power rolling from Lucifer as he sprouts wings and horns, snarling at her. He’s too fast for her to try and get away; she knows the futility of the action and only ducks her head when he approaches her. 

“What did you say?” He asks, his voice deceptively quiet and calm. She hides her face in the pillow pressed against her knees. 

“You met Belphegor? You know you weren’t allowed to, but you went up those stairs and you  _ met Belphegor? _ ” The facade of calm is gone from him as he buries his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back and dragging her up so that she has to face him. Tears glimmer in her eyes, unshed for the moment. “Do you  _ really _ find it so amusing to poke your nose into our business at every opportunity? Do you really enjoy stirring up trouble that much?”

“No,” she tries to say, but he shakes her and the word from her lips, fingers pressed harshly against her scalp. Her neck hurts. A tear makes a zig-zag trail down her cheek from his handling. 

“You? A mere  _ human _ ? You don’t have the right!” He bellows at her, reaching out with his other hand for her face. She closes her eyes, not wanting to see her own death looming so closely. 

“ _ Stop! _ ” Someone orders, and Lucifer drops her. Arms snake under her own and drag her across the back of the couch, and when she opens her eyes hesitantly she finds herself staring up at Barbatos. 

“Out of my way, Diavolo,” Lucifer snarls. “I’m going to rip that human limb from limb!”

Eleanor winces and curls into herself on the floor, hands pressed against her head to soothe the sting Lucifer’s hand left. Warm arms encircle her and help her to stand.

“What was that about Belphegor?” Beelzebub asks, placing one of his hands over her head. She trembles and presses her face into his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” is all that she can say on repeat, tears spilling from her eyes and onto his shirt. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—”

“Well,” Diavolo sighs, holding Lucifer back. “I really hoped that this wouldn’t come to pass, but it seems that it has. Barbatos, that you for notifying me in time so that we could keep Lucifer from harming one of our exchange students.” Barbatos bows slightly at his prince. 

“Now then, Eleanor. It seems a terrible mistake has been made, and I believe that I need your assistance in correcting it,” Diavolo continues, and Lucifer stiffens. Eleanor pulls herself away from Beelzebub and looks towards the demon prince, her eyes still swimming in tears. 

“A mistake?” She asks, thinking that she already knows the answer. “Okay. What do I have to do?”  _ It’s the whole thing, _ she thinks as she speaks.  _ It’s the program. It’s me. _ And she sees no reason to doubt her own insidious thoughts.  _ They’re going to send me back. They’re going to wipe my memory _ —

“Barbatos will send you where you need to go,” Diavolo says, confirming her fears. She shudders and steps away from Beelzebub, towards Barbatos. “But first, I have to know that you do this freely.” 

Eleanor stares at him for a moment before nodding.  _ That’s right. The agreement with the Celestial Realm. As long as this is my choice, then they shouldn’t get into trouble.  _ She swallows hard and tries to steady her voice. 

“I do,” she confirms. “Whatever needs done, I… I agree to it.” Diavolo offers her a sad smile.

“Barbatos has the ability to see into the future, to see potential outcomes of actions. I asked him not to look further than this moment, so nobody knows what the future holds. Do you still agree?”

Her mouth feels dry. “I do,” she tells him weakly. Barbatos nods and with two fingers pressed together, outlines a door in the air in front of him. There’s a moment of hesitation before the magic kicks in, sparkling green where his fingers traced before a deep, dark wooden frame appears. Not far behind it is a door.

“All you have to do is step through this door. You’ll figure out what to do from there, I’m sure.” Eleanor doesn’t know where the princes’ confidence in her comes from, but she nods and reaches for the brass handle. The contact sends a rush of magic through her and makes her shudder. Unnoticed by all, the nazar around her neck shatters and falls to the ground, landing noiselessly on the plush rug.

She turns to the demons all staring at her; Asmodeus looks horrified. Mammon looks like he might want to cry, and Leviathan and Beelzebub aren’t that far behind him. Lucifer still looks furious, but it’s tempered now by a touch of confusion.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers to them so that her voice doesn’t break, her hand bracing herself against the doorframe. She looks forward into the shimmering lights on the other side of the door. Takes a deep breath.

And steps through.

From upstairs, they hear an explosion.


	52. Lilith

When the dazzling light fades from her eyes and they adjust to the near complete darkness, she discovers that she’s in the House of Lamentation. She’d been expecting Diavolo’s office or something similar, to keep him from starting the exchange program—a warning from the future that never should have been.

“Because that worked out so well the  _ first time, _ ” she hears her own voice from the library and flinches, knowing exactly  _ when _ she is. But unlike that Diavolo promised, she has no idea what she’s meant to do. No inkling.  _ Do I burst in and tell myself to keep my mouth shut? What happens then…? _ Her head hurts. She takes a step towards the library, hoping that she’ll come up with a plan along the way.

Instead, her feet take her to the stairs. She tries to fight against it, her muscles tense and straining. But still, they work against her, pulling her up the stairs. She tries to hang onto the railing but her fingers feel numb and refuse to close around anything at all.

_ No, no, no, _ she thinks, unable to even turn to look behind her. She’s crammed into a tiny corner of her own mind, little more than a spectator in her own body.  _ What’s happening? Why can’t I do anything? What did Barbatos do? _ She struggles within her invisible bindings, thrashing against whatever magical restraints have been slipped over her. A cold wave of terror washes over her as she turns a corner at the top of the stairs and realizes that she’s heading directly for the attic.

_ No, no, no no no no no no _ , is all that she can think as her foot hits the first step.  _ I don’t want to go… What’s happening…? _

She climbs the circular stairs two at a time, keeping to the inside so her steps are smaller. Part of her is bubbling with excitement, and she recognizes it as the same part that wanted to help Belphegor immediately, even though he’d so blatantly lied to her. The bars are as they always are, still cloaked in the shimmer of magic that’s meant to keep her out. The reminder of Lucifer’s fury makes her head ache all over again. 

Trembling, her hand reaches out to touch the bars even as she tries in vain to pull it back to her side. She remembers the almost electric shock it gave her before, remembers how strong Lucifer’s spell had been just in grazing it.  _ But it can’t work _ , she thinks, still trapped within her own body.  _ I can’t break the spell because I don’t have pacts with all of them, there’s no way I have enough power without Lucifer’s pact. _

Her fingers wrap around the bar closest to her, and through her tear-blurred vision she can see that Belphegor is asleep in the bed she’d seen him in so often. On the floor beside him she sees the playing cards she left, the bowl from the mango she brought him.  _ I was so stupid trying to trust him, _ she thinks as the bar shatters beneath her touch. She steps into the room, fighting each step she takes.

“Belphegor,” says a voice that isn’t hers at all, even though it comes from her mouth. It’s light and airy and Eleanor can’t help but to think that it sounds like windchimes. “Belphie, wake up, please,” the voice says. 

“Lilith,” Belphegor says, half asleep. Eleanor watches him stir and wonders if she’s too close to run away, should she get control back. 

“Sorry,” Eleanor whispers in the voice that isn’t hers. The fresh wave of tears that roll down her cheeks are all her own. Belphegor sits up then, piercing her with his amethyst gaze. She can see the cloud of sleep slipping away as he takes in her sudden appearance, the open doorway behind her. The freedom that’s been offered. She stumbles, slumps over, almost falls to her knees when whatever’s been holding her up for so long leaves her. 

When she raises a hand to her nazar, she finds only her empty chain. 

“I thought you were done with me,” he says, almost lazily. “What are  _ you _ doing here? The door is open. Did you do that? Did you open it?”

Eleanor covers her cheeks with her hands, feeling the wetness that’s collected there but unwilling to break eye contact with the demon in front of her. She shakes her head.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, horrified.  _ I need to run. I need to go. Now, _ she thinks because there’s something off about the smile on his face. But her legs are shaking too much for her to try and so she finds herself rooted in place, despite her regained control over her own body. 

“But… You opened that door and came in here, didn’t you? There’s nobody else here: it had to have been you,” his smile is stretched far too wide as he slides off his bed and stands in front of her. She has enough wherewithal to take a half step back. “Amazing! This is amazing! You’ve set me free from this prison; you’ve saved me!”

He’s talking to her, but she doubts that he’s very aware of her presence. His gaze sweeps around the room as if taking it in for the last time. She takes another step back and to the side, trying to put distance between herself and the manic demon without drawing his attention again. 

“There’s no way Lucifer or Lord Diavolo ever imagined  _ this _ would happen. The  _ irony, _ ” he breathes, and then turns to look hard at her again. “As for you—we had a deal, didn’t we? You free me, and I release you back to where you belong.” He holds his arms out to her and she stares at him, wide-eyed.  _ He doesn’t think I’m actually going to hug him…? I have to do something. Think, Eleanor, _ she commands herself. 

_ I could try to run downstairs, _ she thinks, hoping that Belphegor is weak enough from his confinement to give her at least a fighting chance.  _ And what happens when I get there? Lucifer isn’t happy with me… _

She shakes her head; it’s a risk she’ll have to take because she doesn’t like the gleam in Belphegor’s eyes at all. 

“What,” he asks, his tone mocking as he steps forward. She tries to dart to the side, only for him to grab the sleeve of her shirt. “You don’t want a hug? Not very friendly of you,” he chides as she scrambles away from his outstretched arms. “I’m truly sorry it had to come to this; aside from one or two of your peculiarities, you really don’t seem all  _ that _ bad. But you see, if you die, then the exchange program will be ruined and Diavolo’s reputation will be in tatters.”

She tries to scramble away and hears the sleeve tear from his shirt; for a brief, freeing moment she thinks that she might just escape, that she might just make it to the doorway and get far enough down the stairs to call for help. 

_ Mammon will come, _ she tells herself, heart racing, as she surges towards escape.

Belphegor grabs her by the back of her neck and she cries out at the way his hand grinds down against her spine. He flips her easily and throws her down to the floor beside the bed, pressing both of his hands against her throat. 

“Finding it hard to breathe?” He asks, his face beside hers as he whispers into her ear. She struggles, scratching at the backs of his hands and up his arms. There’s little for her to look at except from the horn that’s sprouted from his head, but she knows where his face is. “I’m sure it must be  _ very _ unpleasant.”

She goes for his eyes with her nails, scratching and hitting at whatever she can manage to get a grip on. But the lack of air is already starting to get to her; little hollow-black spots dance at the edge of her vision and she kicks out from under him, landing her knee in his stomach. He doesn’t react much at all, except to narrow his eyes at her and press down harder on her throat. 

Desperate for anything to help, she throws her arm out beside her, hoping that he’d been lazy enough to keep the bowl and knife she’d mistakenly left with him together. Her fingers hit against hard metal and she strains harder, reaching with shaking fingers for the little paring knife.  _ I’m not going to make it, _ she thinks as her vision fades.  _ But I can… try. _

Her fingers close around the handle and she swipes up, drags the point of the knife against the side of his face. She can feel it catch his skin, can feel the sharp blade drag against him and for a moment she thinks she’s startled him enough to let her go. His hands fly up to cup his cheek and she feels air rush into her burning lungs, feels her pulse return to her crushed throat. The fuzzy black spots in her vision persist and then start to fade in the next moment as she lays on the floor, chest heaving. 

“I didn’t think you had that in you,” he admits as he reaches for the hand holding the blade. She tries kicking away from him, knowing she won’t be able to stand yet, knows that as soon as she tries she’ll fall immediately. He pries the blade from her fingers and sits back on his heels to watch her squirm for a moment. And then he moves.

She thinks, for a quiet, still moment, that he’s punched her hard in the gut. That he’s decided to show her he doesn’t need a weapon to make her hurt. But then he leans back, dragging the blade from her with him as he goes. The roaring in her ears, she realizes, must be her heartbeat. She wants to scream.

The pain keeps her immobile.

She feels warm and freezing at the same time, each overtaking her in waves as she tries to press her hands against her stomach, desperate to staunch the bleeding that spills from her. 

“I have to say, seeing a human face twisted in pain like this…” he pries her hands away from the wound, wiping his bloodied hands off in her hair. 

_ I’m afraid. _

The whole of her being is focused on the pain in her stomach and the warm wetness she feels pooling in her middle to drip off onto the floor.

“... Why, it’s so much fun that I can barely stand it,” he finishes, and she’s already forgotten what he said earlier. If she could move at all, she’s certain that she would roll over to throw up. Belphegor only watches, his laughter ringing in her ears as the feeling recedes from her fingers, first, leaving her awash in freezing numbness.

“S-s-s-sorry,” she chokes out, shaking with the exertion of forming words. She’s not speaking to Belphegor; she’s barely aware of him at the edge of her fading consciousness. But there is someone—or the suggestion of someone, perhaps, it’s getting so difficult for her to focus—standing just above her.  _ I tried, _ she wants to tell the figure; it looks so familiar. She thinks maybe she knew it, once upon a time.  _ I tried to fix it. _

The figure leans down and runs fingers through Eleanor’s bloody hair; Eleanor thinks she feels something small and wet splash against her face as the figure cradles her face in blindingly shining hands. She can’t feel her own heartbeat. She can’t breathe.

She slips into darkness.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this,” the figure whispers, unheard by the dead human and laughing demon in the room. But the figure collects herself and gathers the tattered remnants of her power within her, pushing them outward at last.

“ _ Belphegor, _ ” Lilith says, the room rattling with the sudden explosion of holy power. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [*drops this and runs*](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGG3hGutODM)


	53. Aftermath

Mammon is the first to reach the attic. The first to witness the blinding holy light, his brother, the dead human on the ground. He’s also the first to react. As Lucifer gains his bearings, Beelzebub locks eyes with his missing twin, and Leviathan, Satan, and Asmodeus all stumble into the cramped attic room, Mammon is already kneeling on the floor. 

She’s still warm when he picks her up.

“Belphegor,” Diavolo says as he approaches the demon, Barbatos not far behind him. They’ve come prepared; the butler holds spelled shackles in his hand and looks as if he might very much enjoy using them. But Belphegor hardly notices their presence: his gaze is locked on the shining light that burns his eyes the longer he stares. 

“Wake up, Eleanor,” Mammon says as he shifts her in his arms. Her eyes are wide and glassy. Vacant. When he jostles her, a stray tear leaks out and oozes through the drying streaks of blood on her cheek. He grabs her hand, willing her fingers to close around his like they normally do.

The movement and high keening noises coming from his brother draw Belphegor’s attention. 

“Mammon! You look like such a fool,” he says as if the whole thing is little more than a joke that got slightly out of hand. “She’s kicked the bucket, and yet here you are panicking as if it’s the end of the world!”

“Belphie, what have you  _ done? _ ” Beelzebub breathes, his face torn between anger and hurt. Asmodeus pushes through the assembled crowd to grab Lucifer’s arm. 

“Lucifer, there’s something we can do, right?” He asks, not sure if he should be looking at Belphegor or the bloody mess that the human has become. He remembers, vaguely, one human or another claiming that there is beauty to be found in death, but no matter how hard he searches, there is none to be found before him. 

Lucifer frowns. Bares his teeth at the sight and the brother he’d locked up for his own good. The thought that perhaps, if he’d not been quite so rough with Eleanor, she might not have been so quick to walk through the doorway crosses his mind before he quickly dismisses it; there’s little to be done now, not when she’s broken on the floor. Belphegor laughs, the sound cutting through the silence.

“Perfect! That’s  _ exactly _ the look I was hoping to see on your face, Lucifer!”

“Balphegor,” says a feminine voice, and they all turn to the too-bright light at once. Belphegor looks momentarily chastened before he smiles brightly at the churning mass of holy power before him. 

“Lilith,” he says, reaching for her. “How are you here?”

“I have  _ always _ been here,” she says, her wings fluttering in agitation. “At least, as long as  _ she’s _ been here.” She gestures to the human cradled in her brother’s arms, the human she’s spent two decades watching over as well as she can. Lilith holds something to her chest, shining as brightly as herself. 

“I truly hate to interrupt this family reunion,” Diavolo says, “but there is something that needs to be taken care of.” At Diavolo’s words, Barbatos steps forward and slips the shackles around Belphegor’s wrists; the magic contained within them makes him pliant. 

“If you will wait just a moment, Lord Diavolo,” Lilith says. “I would like to speak with my misguided brother.” She stares down the prince of the Devildom until he nods, holding his hand up to Barbatos, demanding him to wait. Almost every eye is on her as she steps towards Belphegor, still clutching her hands to her chest, holding her precious treasure close to where her heartbeat once rested. 

“I know what you’ve been though, Belphie,” she says, her voice soft, understanding. “I know why you’re angry. I know that you’re hurt. But this anger that you have…” She shifts the celestial thing in her hands so it’s gripped tight in one as she reaches out to trace the scratch Eleanor left on his face. Belphegor’s eyes water from the pain of her touch, but it quickly turns to tears as the reality of his sister’s presence hits him. 

“It isn’t healthy. It isn’t okay. The story of  _ how _ I came to live in the human world is not mine to tell, I think,” she says as she glances at Lucifer and Diavolo. “I barely remember it. But I want you to know that I was  _ happy _ in my human life. I loved and was loved in return. I made a  _ difference. _ ” Her gaze flicks over to Eleanor before she returns to her brother. “After a while, I remembered what I once was. I knew the danger that half-celestial children faced. I took them in; I protected them.  _ She _ is the last of that line. The last reminder that I existed at all.”  _ And you killed her, _ are the words that don’t need to be spoken. Belphegor looks at the human, horror dawning on his face. He looks down at his hands. Back at the human, bloodied in Mammon’s arms as his brother is still trying frantically to wipe the blood off her face. 

“And do you know how difficult it is to bring a human with celestial blood, a celestial soul, down to the Devildom without the Celestial Realm finding out?” Lilith pouts, and Lucifer stiffens. 

“ _ You _ brought her here?” Lucifer asks, aghast, remembering the stray wind that put Eleanor’s name in his hands all that time ago. Lilith looks up at her eldest brother and smiles warmly.

“Of course. My power is fading. I knew that soon enough, I wouldn’t be able to protect her at all and that I had to bring her to someone that would.” She looks at all of her brothers, her meaning heavy in her voice. She stands and moves to the center of the room, further away from Belphegor. Her eyes fall on Eleanor and she holds what’s left of her tight. “I tried explaining that to her, but I’m afraid that I caused her undue distress.”

“Fuckin’ dreams,” Mammon spits out, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. He says it quietly, so that nobody quite hears him. Lilith nods sadly, but then looks at the prince.

“Lord Diavolo, I believe there is something that you wish to say.” Diavolo nods at Lilith’s words and steps closer to the demon brothers.

“Lucifer… Truth be told,” Diavolo says. “I knew you were hiding Belphegor, and I knew why; your loyalty to me forced you to deceive your brothers, and I knew that was a source of guilt. I saw how you struggled with it—how hard it was being pulled in two directions at once.” Lucifer breathes a heavy sigh and locks eyes with Diavolo, tension in every inch of his body.    
“Then if that’s true—” Beelzebub starts, reaching for the hope Diavolo dangles in front of them all.

“ _ However, _ the Devildom, Celestial Realm, and the human world exist within a very delicate balance. In order to maintain this balance, we must have rules. Belphegor sought to violate these rules, and that is something I cannot overlook.” Diavolo interrupts Beelzebub, and Barbatos’s grip on the chains holding Belphegor tightens. “I suggest that until some of this is ironed out, you all remain within the House of Lamentation for the time being.”

A muscle in Lucifer’s jaw twitches, and he cannot decide if he’s angry more at himself or at Belphegor and decides that the both of them deserve his ire. 

“Do what you must,” Lucifer says heavily, and there’s a flurry of activity and murmuring among those of his brothers who have remained standing. Beelzebub doesn’t want his twin to leave, not when they’ve just been reunited, after a fashion; but then he remembers the human who worked so hard to free him and pauses. He  _ wants _ to keep his brother by his side. Knowing that he’s in the Devildom will have to suffice for now.

Diavolo leads Barbatos and Belphegor out of the attic room; Barbatos allows himself to be dragged along, eyes locked on Lilith and the human cradled limply in Mammon’s arms. They all listen to their footsteps retreat down the stairs, and Lucifer thinks that if he listens closely, he can perhaps hear the oversized front door open and then slam shut.

Lilith cocks her head to the side and nods once she’s certain that they’re all gone.

“If you’ve been here the whole time, then why didn’t you stop this from happening?” Satan interrupts whatever she’s about to say, stepping forward with his arms crossed. The wrath that he keeps bound up so well within himself is threatening to unwind. He gestures to the cooling blood on the ground, the splashes of arterial spray coating the bedding beside her. 

“I have  _ one _ miracle left. If I used that on protecting her once, then what would have happened once I was gone?”

Silence. They all know the answer. 

“And without the release of a human life, I couldn’t summon enough power to manifest. Think of it as… an evil that became necessary,” she says, looking fondly down at the human. Her bloodless face is pale in a way Lilith has never seen before; she wishes Mammon would close her eyes so they don’t stare, spiritless, at nothing. “Especially since  _ someone _ gave her an artifact that blocked her from me.” Satan looks sheepish at Lilith’s pointed words, but there’s no barb behind them.

“It was meant to protect her,” he defends himself as Asmodeus shakes his head in disbelief.

“You didn’t know,” Lilith soothes him. “But without me sealing her magic, one of the nearby angels could have taken note and reported that back to their superiors.  _ You _ know what happens to those poor souls the Celestial Realm decides to claim.”

Most of the demons do not; Lucifer, Satan, and Beelzebub are the exceptions, and the knowledge weighs heavy on them. While the others are not privy to the specifics, Lilith's words and tone are enough to imply that it’s nothing any of them would consider good.

“Then...” Leviathan pauses, looking pained as he divides his attention between his human friend and the sister he thought they’d lost eons ago. “What’s going to happen to Eleanor?”

“Wait. If you got one miracle left—” Mammon stands, dragging Eleanor with him. She dangles limply from where his arms are wrapped around her. Mammon winces as Lilith approaches, squinting into the light she throws off. 

“I intend to use it, if you’ll let me,” Lilith says, reaching out to run her hands through Eleanor’s hair one more time. When her fingers snag against the dried blood Belphegor left in Eleanor’s hair, her lower lip trembles. “I’ve existed for a  _ very  _ long time. I’ve seen the best and the worst of humanity, of the Celestial Realm. I’m  _ tired. _ When I use this last miracle, there will be nothing left holding me together.”

Beelzebub sucks a noisy breath in through his teeth, but he nods in acceptance. The sting of Lilith’s death never really left any of them, but hearing that she lived so well, that she’s  _ ready _ to go is something of a balm on the wound. 

“Whatever is left of me… I’ll return to the human world. I love the sun. The rain. Cool breezes,” she sighs. “I might not be  _ me _ , but some part of me will be there. Make sure to tell Bephie that.” Lilith trails off, patting Eleanor’s cheek in lieu of any of her brothers’, knowing that her touch would only hurt them. She doesn’t have a physical body to contain her holy fire. 

“If that is your wish,” Lucifer says tightly, knowing that here are the fruits of his sacrifice, the results of his loyalty to Diavolo. The specter of his sister in celestial form, the corpse of the exchange student before him. 

“I don’t know if I’m capable of bringing her all the way back, but I’ll do the best that I can,” Lilith hedges, placing the hand that isn’t keeping Eleanor’s soul safe over the deep wound just below her ribcage, centered on her abdomen. Her eyes scan her brothers and then settle on Lucifer; she nods to him, urging him to step closer.

“Take this. Carefully. Please,” she says as he unfurls his fingers, holding his hand out to her, palm up. She presses what looks like a miniature sun into his hand, blinding bright enough that he has to refrain from looking directly at it. He knows what it is—so do all of his brothers—and he knows the value of this particular soul. Knows the desire to possess it that sweeps through all of his brothers because that same desire rushes through him as he clasps his hands around it. Lilith plays a dangerous game, he knows, in trusting any of her demon brothers to shelter Eleanor’s soul from the Celestial Realm. But…

He holds it gingerly, basking in the searing, holy heat that emanates from it and stings at his fingers through his gloves. The nod of understanding that he gives Lilith is severe, but she smiles in relief anyway. 

“I love you,” she whispers to her brothers because she doesn’t need to say goodbye, knows the understanding that runs between all of them. “Live happily.”

Lilith pours the last of her miracles into Eleanor, urging arterial walls to knit back together, the muscles surrounding the wound to repair themselves, the blood that she lost to replenish. The biggest, most harmful hurts she takes care of first, knowing that her miracle isn’t strong enough to erase the incident entirely. 

“Live well,” Lilith whispers into Eleanor’s ear as she feels herself fading. But she isn’t conscious, isn’t even there at the moment; Lilith glances back up at Lucifer, back up at the rest of his brothers. The last thing they see of her is her brilliant smile.

Without the celestial light pouring from their sister, the demons find it much easier to see the carnage of the attic. The delicate directions hanging from the ceiling are shattered, fallen to the floor or dangling in pieces. Asmodeus finds the knife—the little one that’s been missing from the kitchen for some time, he notes—and inspects it, his face pinched with the knowledge of how hard his brother had to have hit her to drive the blade home. 

As soon as Lilith’s light fades and he is certain that most of the damage to Eleanor’s body has been corrected, he approaches her. Mammon shifts her in his arms so Lucifer can reach her easier, and everybody in the room ignores how her head lolls back. Lucifer presses the searing light into the hollow of her throat, watching it seep into her skin. 

“Someone should… Hold her head,” Leviathan says hesitantly, sure that he’s seen something about that in one of his shows before. Satan steps forward with his arms out, but Mammon jerks her back.

“I can do it,” he snaps, angling her so that her forehead rests on his shoulder. But when he feels her heartbeat start back up, thready and stuttering, his knees buckle. Beelzebub steps forward, and when he eases Eleanor into his arms, Mammon doesn’t offer any additional argument. The last thing any of them wants to do is to drop her. 

“She’s covered in blood,” Asmodeus points out, his nose wrinkled in distaste. “Someone should clean her up.” It’s easier for him to lean on his disgust rather than show exactly how concerned he is. 

“Someone should,” Lucifer agrees, pinching his fingers together to feel how they’ve burned beneath his gloves. He doesn’t want her to have to wake up covered in her own gore. “Someone should also clear this place out.” He indicates the battered attic, the cracked mirror, the overturned boxes. 

The first to move is Beelzebub as he leaves the attic, Mammon and Asmodeus trailing behind him. Leviathan blanches at the task that’s been handed to him by his own inaction, but volunteers to collect soap and water anyway. 

There’s little else to do but to try to repair the broken pieces of the lives scattered around them and hope that Eleanor wakes, that their sister’s final sacrifice is not in vain. The solemnity of the situation weighs heavy on all of them, ordering a screeching halt to the runaway train that had been the situation just half of an hour ago.

“Do you think she’ll remember everything? Do you think she’ll want to… stay?” Leviathan poses the last question to Satan, looking at him nervously. Satan’s hands still as he pauses restacking boxes and Lucifer looks at the both of them sharply.

“I can’t imagine she would,” Satan tells his brother. 

“Of course she wouldn’t. Why would she—” but Leviathan cuts himself off with a firm shake of his head as if he can dispel his own thoughts that way. 

“Just what are you two talking about?” Lucifer asks, his interest and irritation piqued at the turn his brothers’ conversation has taken. It’s a distraction and they all know it, just as they’re all grateful for it. 

“I’ll tell you if you tell us what Lilith meant about her living in the human world,” Satan challenges, and Leviathan wilts at the hard look that Lucifer and Satan exchange. Lucifer straightens his back. Picks at the fingertips of his gloves, and considers the proposition. 

“Very well,” he accedes, knowing that it has to be discussed anyway. 


	54. Quiet Moments

They wait, sitting around the table in her room. 

“She hasn’t woken up. We should call Simeon—” Leviathan starts, shifting nervously in his seat. He can’t bring himself to look or ask, but the troubled expression on Asmodeus’s face says enough about the state of her injury. 

“No angels.” Lucifer’s words are sudden and sharp. “You heard Lilith; they don’t need to find out any sooner than they already will.” Leviathan looks chastened and traces the whorls in the wood with a fingertip in silence. 

“But Simeon—” Asmodeus starts, and Lucifer shakes his head.

“Is still an angel,” Lucifer interrupts. “No matter how well he’s adapted to the Devildom.” They all fall into silence again; nobody is sure what to do or say, what topic of conversation would be safe. 

“What was Lilith talking about? When she mentioned becoming human,” Satan asks, and Lucifer closes his eyes. He hadn’t dared to imagine that he’d get away from explaining his past to his brothers.    
“We should discuss that when Belphegor is present,” he says, choosing to ignore the fact that nobody knows when that will be. 

“ _ Or, _ ” Satan challenges, “you could explain now and fill him in later. I imagine you’ll both have a lot to talk about later, anyway.” Lucifer scowls at his brother and leans back in his chair. His gaze wanders over to Eleanor, asleep and breathing deeply in her bed. She’s still too pale to look healthy.

“When we fell, Lilith was still alive,” he says. Beelzebub slumps in his seat and covers his face with his hands. “But she wasn’t going to last long. That’s when Diavolo found us. In exchange for loyalty…” Lucifer tastes the word on his tongue and can’t tell if it’s bitter or not. “He let her live. Gave her human skin to hide in, a new life to live. But I never would have imagined she’d remember anything from her life before.”

Lucifer purses his lips and looks back to his brothers.

“The night that I had to lock Belphie up, he begged me to go to Lord Diavolo and end the program. When I said that I couldn’t do that, he said that he’d defy Diavolo himself and wipe out humanity.”

None of the demons are comfortable with what Lucifer is admitting; they knew that Belphegor’s love of humanity had twisted since their fall, but none of them had ever imagined it had changed so drastically. 

“... Couldn’t you have at least told us in secret what happened? That Belphegor wasn’t in the human world? We could have…” Asmodeus pauses, looks over to Eleanor, and sighs. “We could have all kept her away from the attic.”

“Yeah. You didn’t have to lie to us, feeding us that story about sending Belphie off to the human world to study.” Leviathan surprises himself by speaking up, and Mammon nods at his brother’s words.

“It’s not that I didn’t trust all of you. I simply thought that it would be best not to involve the rest of you.”

“No, Lucifer locked Belphie up for his own good,” Beelzebub says with a shake of his head. His brother’s defense of him means more to Lucifer than he’ll say; especially when that defense comes in this context. “Lord Diavolo isn’t the sort of demon who’d let someone off the hook if they tried to stand in the way of his dreams. If Lucifer hadn’t stopped Belphis, he would’ve been found guilty of treason for sure. You were protecting him, weren’t you?” This last question is directed at Lucifer. “And you chose to save Lilith, all that time ago. You did what you had to do in order to keep her alive.”

Beelzebub stands, looming over his eldest brother. Leviathan winces, anticipating the worst—but Beelzebub only leans down and crushes his brother in a tight hug. “I’m sorry you had to bear all that pain on your own,” he says.

“... You don’t have anything to apologize for, Beel. I did what I felt I had to do.” He pauses. Turns to Satan, and skewers him with a pointed stare. “Now, what was it you were talking about earlier, with her staying?”

Satan and Asmodeus are the only ones not to duck their heads in shame, as it had been their plan to start with; neither of them choose to have any shame in the original motivation, only perhaps the outcome. 

“The idea was to make life in the Devildom appealing to her, so that she would stay at the end of the year.”

“Your exact words were that we should ‘keep her’,” Asmodeus points out. “Which it turns out we all agreed with, and so we set out to persuade her of the same.”

“But not me?” An arched eyebrow creeps upwards on Lucifer’s face. Asmodeus smirks at his brother. 

“Do you not want to keep her?” Asmodeus asks, feigning ignorance. “You forget who I am, dearest brother. And we all saw the way you looked at her soul.” He drums his fingers on the table and accepts the scowl Lucifer throws at him with aplomb.

“And you decided that your farcical game scenario was the best way to do that.” The chill in his voice is arctic in its intensity and is the only thing that could make Asmodeus uncomfortable, knowing how it ended. 

“Yes, well—”

“I have things to do,” Lucifer interrupts standing to pull away from his brothers. He forces himself to keep his eyes off of Eleanor lest his brothers get any other ideas into their heads. The fact that they were all willing to work together on something almost impresses him; he just wishes that it didn’t involve them toying with what they perceived to be his love life.

He closes his eyes as he shuts her door behind him; he knows that Asmodeus was right, that the urge to possess the human almost overwhelmed him when he cradled her essence in his hands. But before then, even, he’d been… curious about how she’d captivated his brothers so easily. The darker, insidiously prideful part of him whispers that she’d enjoy it, being a kept thing. And if she didn’t at first, well, humans are adaptable; she’d grow to love it. To love him, even. What  _ isn’t _ there to want about him? And she clung to him so nicely not all that long ago, all soft and warm and…

He clenches a fist, letting the burns on his fingers remind him of what came to pass. That he can’t afford thoughts like that, not when the price of her staying would be all the three realms thrown into chaos. Not when she still hasn’t fully returned from taking the brunt of his mistakes. He realizes that he  _ owes _ her, which is galling; he doesn’t like owing anybody anything. His last debt of gratitude is still being paid through Diavolo.

And yet…

Perhaps there is a way to keep her, if she chooses to stay. There are amendments and loopholes and clauses tucked away in every demon contract—it’s in their nature, after all—so surely, there is some way to get around returning her to the human world. Especially when that return is almost certain to mean capture or death at the hands of the Celestial Realm. 

It’s not a subject he can broach immediately, Lucifer realizes as he settles into his office. They’re all under house arrest, and Diavolo doesn’t even know that his human exchange student isn’t as dead as she was when he’d left them in the attic. It’s something to think about while he pens a letter to Diavolo, explaining the events of the evening as succinctly as possible.

* * *

Satan thinks he remembers a human world story about a sleeping princess and the curse that kept her captive. But Eleanor is not a princess and she is not cursed, and he knows that a kiss is not likely to revive her. 

“Lilith sent you here,” he says as if she can hear him. The additional information does not help him to analyze how he feels about anything that’s happened. He told her once that knowledge is power, so why is it that he still feels so powerless now? The ring signifying his pact gleams on her finger in the light and he reaches out to touch it. 

It hadn’t protected her. If Lucifer’s suspicions about Lilith being the key to breaking the seal on the attic are correct, then it’s actually harmed her. The thought is enough for some of his tightly-bound wrath to slip through before he can catch it and reason it away, and he grabs her hand roughly, wondering if he should just do away with the pact altogether. 

But then he remembers that she’d been frighteningly up-front about her desires and why she wanted the pact in the first place; he finds that he cannot fault her for not seeing the full picture himself. He places her hand back on her covers, folded with the other like he imagines the storybook princess’s might have been. 

Mammon shakes him from his reverie, returning fresh from his shower. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet in a way that Satan finds unsettling; Asmodeus had to remind him with a forceful snarl that he was still bloodied and Eleanor wouldn’t want to wake to that sight, and that has been the only successful say to pull him from her side thus far. 

Leviathan has made himself scarce, scouring the library for the scant few books on human health they have on hand. Satan knows that what he finds there will only worry him further, and resolves to pull him away shortly. Even Asmodeus, so loathe to relinquish his beauty sleep, has kept himself up long enough to tame her hair into a plait. It’s wrapped around her head like a crown—or a halo—and he smoothes down some of the wisps that have escaped as he places the last pin. 

“There,” he says as he analyzes his work. He carefully keeps his eyes away from her neck, where bruises have started to bloom, mottled purples and blue, almost red in the center where their brother’s fingers had clearly been. Asmodeus is wondering if there is some sort of cream on the market that would help wash it away, to remove the ugly reminder of what happened in the attic so she doesn’t have to look at it when she wakes up. 

_ When _ is a crucial word; none of them allow the word  _ if _ to slip by in their thoughts.

“Who said you could be in her bed?” Asmodeus snaps, masking his worry over the human by fussing over her hair. Mammon ignores his brother and kicks off his boots, letting them land in a heap at the foot of her bed in the way he always does. She isn’t there to tell him to take them off herself. 

“I  _ said _ —” Asmodeus starts, but a glare from Mammon quiets him immediately. It’s so rare to see Mammon truly angry or upset that his brother almost forgot he was capable of it.

“I have to be here,” Mammon says as he grabs one of her hands, letting his fingers rest against the pulse point in her wrist to savor the feeling. “To protect her. I’m her first man, after all.”

His brothers exchange glances that speak of worry and confusion, but the tone in his voice brooks no argument. His eyes were angry, but he sounds beaten down. Defeated. There’s nothing to mock or belittle because none of them had been there, had managed to get to the disaster in time. 

“I’m off to bed,” Asmodeus says after a time, trying not to furrow his brows; none of his brothers would mock him for the tears he wants to shed, but he’d still prefer to keep some things private. Satan nods at his statement. Mammon continues to ignore everything that isn’t Eleanor, as if by staring at her hard enough he’ll be able to bring her back through sheer force of will alone. 

Satan is not one for baseless platitudes, so he does not tell his brother that everything will be fine, that she will wake up and put everything to rights. But he also can’t stand to see his brother, the second among them, looking so pitiable over a human. 

“Keep watch over her,” Satan tells his brother as he stands. It’s a needless directive because even now Mammon has himself pulled taut, listening for the slightest hitch in her breathing, the tiniest pause in her heartbeat.

* * *

Beelzebub is in the kitchen, staring vacantly into the pantry. He wonders if the numbness he feels is his own or Belphegor’s; whomever it belongs to, it’s edged out the ever-present, gnawing hunger that his sin creates. Without it he feels adrift, rudderless and without any direction. 

He wonders when Belphegor got so angry at humans, when that burning interest and love for the species turned to searing hatred. Wonders how it happened right under his own nose, how he didn’t see it happening. What he’d thought would happen when Belphegor came back, should they have managed to persuade Eleanor to stay. 

He supposes he’d imagined a scenario where Eleanor did whatever it is she does to charm everyone around her, and Belphegor would be won over, and they could all live happily ever after, as Satan suggested. There’s little doubt in his mind that Belphegor heard what he needed to hear from Lilith, that the full story of her life and death and life again would help to set him at ease—that the hatred he carries for humans could wither away once the true source of his grief was addressed.

There’s little doubt in Beelzebub’s mind that Belphegor could be persuaded, eventually, to love Eleanor in the way that Beelzebub does. And if Belphegor’s crimes had been any less, Beelzebub is confident that Eleanor would have liked him, too. She’d been in contact with him for quite some time anyway, he knows. Long enough for Belphegor to plant the seed of her own destruction in her mind. 

But there are some things that not even Eleanor can forgive, and Beelzebub knows that this is one of them. She told him, once—a few times, once he thinks about it—that what happened with Lilith wasn’t his fault. He’d started to want to believe her, after a time; her surety started to rub off on him. He knows on instinct that she’d tell him that nothing that’s happened is his fault.

The knowledge isn’t soothing at all; he can’t bring himself to return to her room, which is where he wants to be. He can’t return to his own room without his focus wandering over to Belphegor’s side. It would take another miracle to mend what’s been broken, but with Lilith gone, miracles are in short supply.

He wonders if he should pray for one more anyway, if his father would listen at all, if the oddity of a demon praying for the safe delivery of a human would cause enough of a stir to see that prayer answered.

He doesn’t get the chance to find out.

When he cycles back around, his listless feet walking him in aimless circles around the house, he hears a commotion coming from Eleanor’s room. Celestial or infernal magic aside, one more miracle happens.

Because in the early morning hours, Eleanor wakes. 


	55. Trade Negotiations

There is no early dawn light to usher her back into consciousness, only the eternal gloom of the sunless Devildom. For a moment, there’s only the noise of quiet breathing, the warmness of someone’s hands wrapped around her own, and the veil of sleep that slowly lifts away. She shifts, trying to sit up, and that is when the pain finally hits her. Before, it was background noise, something that was present but not overwhelming.

She hisses, the breath coming low and sharp from between her teeth. 

Leviathan sits up sharply and drops her hands.

“Don’t sit up,” he orders her, pressing against her shoulder to keep her flat on her bed. Satan warned him, when he’d found him in the library surrounded by books, that he’d only worry himself about things he shouldn’t. But as he looks at her stunned face, all he can think of are the innumerable ways that something could go horribly wrong. She’s not completely healed yet; the bruising at her throat was sign enough of that, but Asmodeus was careful to tell the rest of his brothers that while he doubted there was internal damage, the puncture wound was still very evident. He read about torn muscles and broken bones and how slow everything is to heal for humans. 

“Levi, what—”

He presses a hand against her mouth. 

“Just stay right there! I’ll go and get everyone!” He doesn’t give her any time to argue or even process his words; by the time she’d realized what he said, her door has already slammed behind him. _Like hell I’m just sitting around,_ she grumbles to herself. _I’m not an invalid._ But the moment she stands on her own two feet, she feels like the breath has been punched out of her. She allows herself to stumble once before grabbing onto the tree in her room for support. 

_Deep breaths, Eleanor,_ she tells herself as she straightens her back. _It’s not so bad if I don’t think about it_ , she lies to herself. Pressing against her stomach with her arms helps, somewhat, and she finds that she can at least make it to her door. Opening it is less of a struggle than she anticipates, and she counts making it out into the hallway as a victory. _Just make it to the kitchen,_ she tells herself as she makes her way down to the hallway. _Just to the kitchen, and I can sit down again._

But when she makes it to the kitchen, she finds that it’s already occupied.

“... Beel?” She wonders what time it is—the middle of the night, surely, if he’s standing in front of the fridge. Even with his back to her, she can see the way he flinches; when he turns he isn’t able to look her in the eyes. “Beel, are you… okay?”

He looks up at her then, the way one arm is up above her head to brace her weight against the doorway, the other wrapped around her stomach. She jumps when he slams the fridge door behind him. 

“Are you kidding me?” He asks, his eyes filled with anger and hurt. She wilts, her shoulders slumping. “ _You’re_ asking if _I’m_ okay.” It isn’t a question. He throws the statement at her as if by doing so he can make her see how ludicrous the whole thing is. She nods so she doesn’t have to speak. 

He turns away from her shaking his head, and she can’t tell if he’s trying to tell her he’s not okay or if he’s irritated with her. Eleanor frowns and steps further into the kitchen until she has his back pressed up against the fridge door. She moves painfully slow, but he doesn’t make any attempt to keep himself away from her. 

“I want a hug,” she tells him petulantly, holding her arms open wide. Beelzebub glances down at her, shock written plainly on his face, and he shakes his head at her. 

“No.” His arms hang limply at his sides, but she can see his fingers twitch. She sighs heavily, ignoring the twinge of pain the movement causes, and then lets herself tip forwards into him. As she knows he would, he catches her rather than let her slam into him. “You’re hurt,” he protests, but his arms are still around her. She shrugs into his embrace.

“You’re not going to break me.”

He leans down to press his face into the braid Asmodeus fixed around her head. 

“... If I hadn’t told you about him, like Lucifer said…” Beelzebub lets his words trail off, imagining the scenario in his mind. Eleanor raises a hand, curls it into an ineffective fist, and pounds it against his chest.

“No,” she protests, shaking her head.

“It’s my fault—”

“You don’t get to claim responsibility for my choices!” She tells him, voice loud and firm with the irritation outweighing her desire to make peace. “I was warned from the attic! I knew it was dangerous! I _knew_ Belphegor— _yes_ , I’m going to say his name!” She continues when Beelzebub flinches, her voice still raised. “I knew he was lying to me about _something._ You didn’t take me up there yourself. I… I went.” She takes deep, even breaths to disguise the fact that she’s desperately trying not to pant from the exertion. “So… It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault but mine.”

He doesn’t believe her. She knows he doesn’t believe her. But some of the tension leaves him and for a moment, she feels peace. She wonders what will happen between her and the demons of the House of Lamentation; she doubts Lucifer will be so easy to speak with, and it’s him that she’s dreading being alone with the most. Belphegor is a mystery, but he doubts he’s still within the house, which suits her fine.

 _But…_ she bites at her bottom lip in worry. _There’s too much I don’t know. Did I make the situation worse?_ She remembers dragging herself up to the attic, muscles locked against her own will. The spell breaking. Belphegor—

She shudders.

“I told you not to move!” Leviathan’s voice cuts through her hazy thoughts, panic evident in his pitch. She feels a twinge of guilt lance through her when she turns, smiling shyly. Except when she turns, _everyone_ is there, and she stops in her tracks. 

“I…” she pauses, not sure what, exactly, she can say to justify wandering around. 

“You look… well,” Satan hedges, and she snorts at him. He looks confused, as if he’s gone off-script and he’s not sure what possessed him to say anything at all. Asmodeus rolls his eyes

“You don’t have to lie to me to try and spare my feelings. I look like shit.” She caught a glimpse of herself in her mirror as she stumbled past it in her bedroom. Dark circles under her eyes and burst blood vessels within them make her feel like she’s just crawled off the set of some third-rate zombie film. She saw bruising creeping up her neck, little bright red spots crawling up closer to her jaw.

“Well, you did say it…” Asmodeus says, so quietly she barely hears him. 

“Eleanor.” Lucifer steps forward, pushing through the crowd his brothers make in the kitchen doorway. He doesn’t have to say anything else; her anxiety spikes as he approaches, holding out one of his gloved hands. “I believe we should talk.”

Mammon has been threatened into silence, but that doesn’t stop him from shooting a scowl at his older brother. Eleanor glances at him, but then forces herself to look at Lucifer.

“I, um…” She slicks her lips and notices that they’re chapped.

“That was not a request.”

“Oh.” She keeps her eyes trained on him so that none of the other brothers can interpret her gaze as the cry for help she desperately wants to throw out. She steps forward until she’s close enough to take his hand, and he leads her out of the kitchen. His brothers part as if they’ve practiced the maneuver as Lucifer leads her away from them.

“Sit,” Lucifer orders as he throws open her bedroom door, and Eleanor sighs, knowing that there’s no escaping whatever inquisition he’s set up. None of his brothers are going to come to her rescue—not when he looks so angry. _I’m in trouble,_ she thinks as she fidgets. Lucifer places himself at one of the seats at her table, and she perches at the edge of her bed, grateful for the distance between them. 

“Tell me what you remember of what happened,” he orders, and she flinches at how forceful his tone is. The hard expression on his face softens almost imperceptibly. “So I don’t repeat anything you already know.”

“Oh. I…” Her eyes dart away from him as if she might find pity in the leaves hanging above her bed. Her fingers worry at the hem of her shirt. “I stepped through the doorway. I didn’t know where I was going to go, but it’s like something pulled me halfway through, and I ended up in the House. But then I couldn’t walk by myself. I don’t know what it was, but it took me up to the attic, and…” 

She looks back down at him to see that he’s staring intently at her. 

“And the spell broke.”

“And then?” He prompts.

“And then I woke up.” She shrugs. He looks at her like he doesn’t believe her, so she forces herself to make eye contact with him. As always, she’s the one to look away first. But there’s something different about him, in a way that she can’t quite put into words for herself. _The way he looks at me like he’s… expecting something,_ she tests out the thought and decides it’s close, but not quite right. _...Wanting something?_

“It seems to me that Lilith possessed you for a time,” he says, starling her from her musings. “She always was willful like that. Is there anything else you remember?”

 _Is he testing me?_ Eleanor looks at him with a frown and then shakes her head after a beat. Lucifer frowns right back at her.

“Well, then I suppose you should know: we are under house arrest for the time being. Belphegor is in Lord Diavolo’s custody. You were in an… accident. Lilith saved you,” Lucifer pauses and waits for any signs of recognition to flash across her face. “For the time being, you should rest and focus on recovery.”

“Right. Um… I think that for now, I’d like to be alone.” _Let him think what he wants,_ she tells herself when he narrows his eyes slightly. He’s hurt from her words, she can tell, but she can’t quite think of why. _Nothing was really resolved. This is… irritating._ She watches him careful as he stands. 

“Of course.” He locks her door behind him and she can hear him warning her brothers away from her even through the barrier. There are muffled complaints that she can’t pin to any one demon, but she knows that they’re not likely to disobey Lucifer. Not immediately, anyway.

She rolls the hem of her shirt up and tugs at the bandages wrapped around her middle until they fall away. _Was all of this really necessary?_ She wonders until she can see enough of her skin. Her mouth goes dry and she feels like she might pass out; dealing with little scrapes and bumps she can handle, but the bigger things she’s always had to pass off. This is one of the bigger things.

Even though her vision wavers for a moment, she traces the outline of the hematoma that spreads all the way to her waist. Ignores the vivid, angry gash in her stomach that’s pinking at the edges as it tries to heal and scar over. It isn’t as deep as she thought it would have been.

She’d lied to Lucifer, earlier.

She remembers everything, she thinks. Belphegor’s hands wrapped around her throat, pressing down until she’d sure she felt something burst. The sharp, cold pain lancing through her when he pulled the blade from her. Waves of hot and cold as her body tried to adjust to rapidly shutting down until it all went dark, and then…

Leviathan. She remembers waking up to Leviathan at her bedside. And then Beelzebub in the kitchen, and then _everyone_ in the kitchen… Her head spins with the new information. _Lilith possessed me? And then… brought me back?_

Eleanor can’t make any sense of it, no matter how hard she tries. She doesn’t know what would have made Lilith drag her to her own death only to somehow revive her anyway. Her head hurts. 

Carefully, she rebandages herself and then climbs into a pair of jeans, throwing a hooded sweatshirt over herself. It’s several sizes too big, but that works just fine for her purposes. So does the waterproof eyeliner Asmodeus left for her ages ago, still sitting untouched on her dresser where he left it. _Lilith gave me a second chance,_ she thinks, determination pulling her mouth into a hard line as she rolls up both of her sleeves and twists the eyeliner open. 

_Lilith… Is this what you wanted me to do?_

She’s passed her numerology class with flying colors, to the surprise of her demon instructor. Despite being unable to put any magic behind her spells, he’d told her that she had the basics down well. In a theoretical sense. At the time, she hadn’t particularly enjoyed the way he’d tacked _for a human_ onto his words, but now she’s not so displeased. _For protection,_ she thinks as the scrawls a rune circle onto the inside of her right arm. _To harm those that would harm me,_ she thinks as she draws onto her left. True to what Asmodeus promised, the eyeliner dries quickly, leaving the spell circles inked onto her skin like a brand. She rolls her sleeves back down her arms.

 _I’ll be back,_ she writes on a slip of paper, dropping it on her pillow. If anyone should check on her before she makes it back, they won’t miss it, she’s sure. It would stick out too much. Still, she hopes that she can make it back before anyone thinks to check on her. She grits her teeth and slides her window open, feeling sick at the way her core muscles ache with the movement. 

She’s grateful that her room is on the first floor of the house; it makes it that much easier to slip out through the window.

* * *

The walk to the Demon Lord’s castle is long. And _cold_ ; she remembers Diavolo telling her that as a human, winters in the Devildom might be difficult on her. She grits her teeth and hugs herself tighter, trying to keep whatever body heat she has left from slipping away. The castle looms high in the sky, not so far away, now. Before she really knows it, she’s at the main door.

 _Shouldn’t there be guards or something? Do I just… knock?_ Eleanor raises a hand to the door, only for it to swing open by itself. She steps inside of the castle, hoping that the marks on her arms haven’t run from the cold sweat she’s drenched in.

The main hall is dark, just barely lit from little witch lights that hover at the very pinnacle of the ceiling, too far away to give off anything but the suggestion of light. 

“Hello?” She calls out, wincing at the way her voice rasps. It hadn’t been so bad when she was speaking softly or keeping her voice low, but at full volume she thinks she sounds more like a cawing crow than a human. Above her, the lights blaze to full brightness and she finds herself squinting into them as her eyes adjust. 

“Eleanor.”

She looks up at the top of the stairs to see Barbatos and Diavolo standing there as if they’d been waiting. Eleanor hides her frown behind the sleeve of her sweater, wondering if she should bow at the prince or not. _I think if I bow now, I might not get back up…_

“Hello,” she says instead, only inclining her head. “I think it’s morning, so… Good morning.” Silence stretches between her and the two demons until Diavolo laughs and descends the stairs, Barbatos following quickly behind him. 

“I'm surprised to see you alive!” The prince says as he claps a heavy hand on her shoulder. Eleanor’s knees buckle but do not give out; she forces her grimace into a grin. “And on your own two feet, at that.” Barbatos remains silent, a cold reminder that the Devildom prince is perhaps not quite as cuddly as he presents himself to be. Eleanor swallows hard.

“About that… I have a favor to ask.” This piques the interest of both demons, and Barbatos raises a hand to his chin as if she’d spoken directly to him. “I want you to let Belphegor go.”

Silence.

Eleanor can feel her heart pounding in her chest, and is grateful for it.

“Belphegor broke the law, Eleanor,” Diavolo says as if explaining the concept to a small child. “I understand that there were… extenuating circumstances the first time, but I cannot overlook that. In fact, I’m surprised _you_ can overlook that. Did you know that you were dead?” He asks the question as if it’s little more than a passing curiosity, the way he might ask if she knew it was meant to rain next Tuesday.   
“I do know that. But…”

“I cannot afford to give Belphegor special treatment. Barbatos, fetch Eleanor something to sit on, won’t you? She looks like she might pass out.”

Before he spoke, she’d been frustrated. Afraid, mostly. Petrified, if she chose to be honest with herself. But Diavolo’s casual disregard of her evokes an anger she didn’t know was lurking. Her hand shoots out to grab Barbatos by the wrist before she knows what she’s doing.

“Don’t.” She orders him like she has any right to. “I’m fine.” It’s a lie. By her pinched, colorless face and the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead, they all know it’s a lie. Diavolo’s face hardens, and she thinks it’s the first time she’s seen him verging on anything like anger.

“I’m also a wronged party, right? So you should release him into my custody. I’m not saying he won’t be punished, but…” she can feel her strength slipping away from her as she speaks. “Since I’m the human world representative here, perhaps you could let me choose the punishment.”

“... The human world representative?” She’s caught his interest, and she seizes on it, nodding her head.

“Representative. Ambassador. Advisor. Whatever it is that I need to be, just…” _I can’t let them keep living like this_.

“And what makes you think that I need you as any of those things?” She looks up at him so fast she wobbles from the movement.

“Has anybody else offered, Diavolo?” She asks, surprised as how acrid her own words are. And then she freezes because she realizes she didn’t use his title. A quick glance at Barbatos tells her that she’s likely fallen even further in the butler’s esteem. “I—I mean—”

“No, no, you’re right!” Diavolo says, his preternatural cheer back. “Nobody else has offered, so I’ll take you up on it. You can be all of those things.” He reaches out to seal their deal with a handshake. His hand feels warm against hers, and she knows that he can feel the way her fingers tremble. “In exchange, you can handle Belphegor. I’m sure you’re up to the task.”

“... Right.” Eleanor can't help but to feel like she’s stumbled into another trap. She glances between the two demons and flinches when Barbatos snaps, magic bursting around the three of them. A chain snakes down from around his hand when the magic clears, and she follows it to its end. 

Belphegor.

She recoils immediately, taking a half-step back from the demon before she recollects herself and remembers that she shouldn't show so much fear in front of him. Instead, she focuses on controlling her breathing, stilling her racing heart. Eleanor tears her eyes away from him and focuses on Diavolo, ignores the way Belphegor's eyes gleam in what she has to assume is hatred. _As far as he's concerned, he doesn't know that you know,_ she reminds herself. _He's probably just surprised to see that you're alive at all._ The thought steadies her, that he might be just as wary of her as she is terrified of him.

She sneaks another glance at him to see that his eyes are wide and he's leaning back as far as the shackles around his wrists will allow. _He's nervous. Good._ The thought is savage, but she feels savage. For a moment, she considers yanking harshly on the chain, making him sprawl out on the floor if she can. For a moment, she wants to be as ruthless as he is. The thought scares her.

For being such a fine chain, it—and all that it signifies—weighs heavy in her hands. She twines it around her fists as if it will help to make the whole situation feel any more real and ignores the demon standing at the other end of it. Her words to Diavolo had been brave, if foolish, and she hadn’t actually expected him to agree with anything she said. At the moment, she’s half expecting him to laugh at her and take the chain back, tell her that she’s being foolish and to get out of his sight. Barbatos, she thinks as she glances at him, certainly seems like he’s at least thinking that. Even if he hasn’t said anything. 

She looks down at the chain twined around her hands again. 

“Perhaps this has to do with your mission in life,” Diavolo says, and when she wrenches her gaze back up to him he smiles kindly down at her. She stares up at him, her eyes wide and terrified.  _ Perhaps your mission is to influence Lucifer and his brothers in some way… _

“... What?” Her voice is soft, disbelief lending an airy quality. The rings on her hands glint in the suddenly too-bright lights above her, and Diavolo glances upwards.

“Interesting!” 

She doesn’t see what’s so interesting about Barbatos trying to burn out her retinas, so she ignores Diavolo’s remarks.

_ Whatever influence you do end up having, I hope it turns out to be beneficial to them. _

She licks her lips.  _ Did he plan for all of this to happen from the start…? _ She purges the thought from her mind because it’s ridiculous, but she can’t keep herself from glancing at Barbatos every so often. 

“... Is this what you intended to happen? When you sent me through the doorway, I mean.” The question is levied at Barbatos, who does little but smile at her and look to his prince. Her headache pounds in her head and makes it difficult for her to think. 

“Not at all!” Diavolo tells her with his usual cheer. “But it did yield some interesting results, wouldn’t you say?” Eleanor only shrugs, not knowing how to respond. From inside his jacket, Diavolo’s phone chimes; it’s this that almost forces her to break into hysterical, nervous laughter. She saves her dignity at the last moment, turning it into a soft cough. He glances at the screen and then pockets the device again. “I think you’d better be getting back to the House of Lamentation; it seems you have a few people quite worried about you.”

“I might have sneaked out,” she admits sheepishly. “I guess I’ll… be going now?” It’s phrased as a question because she’s still not quite sure what she’s doing; she’s not sure that she’ll ever know. Neither Diavolo nor Barbatos say anything as she turns woodenly away from them, wondering if she should have bowed or curtsied or something as she left. They watch her go.

“Well, I’ll at least let Lucifer know she’s on her way back,” Diavolo sighs as soon as she’s out of earshot. “Still, this whole experience has been very exciting, don’t you think, Barbatos?”

“Indeed, my lord,” Barbatos says, his eyes locked on the space the human has just occupied. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmMMMm maybe a kiss next chapter? But with whom?
> 
> EDIT: I uploaded the wrong version of this chapter ahhhhhhh. It's the correct one now. I blame it on my case of the sniffles.


	56. Return

As soon as she steps outside of the castle she lets out the breath she’s been holding, afraid that she might collapse in front of Diavolo and Barbatos. The cool air brushing against her face revives her, and she almost runs a hand through her hair before she remembers that it’s done up and she’s holding the chain, anyway. 

_Just get back to the house,_ she tells herself, willing her steps to be steady and even. _Just get back to the house, and then you can figure out what to do from there._ She spoke of punishing Belphegor, but her words were empty; she doesn’t want to do so much as acknowledge his presence. 

“We’re walking back? Really?” Belphegor asks, and she flinches, inadvertently yanking on the chain that holds his shackles. She can hear him stumble, he boots kicking up the loose gravel on the drive in front of the castle. Eleanor grits her teeth. _He’s pretending,_ she reminds herself. _He’s playing at being weak. He’s a liar. He’s…_

“I thought you humans had something about not resorting to cruel and unusual punishment.”

She ignores him. Continues to walk forward, keeping her eyes on the blaze of light that the House of Lamentation is in the distance. _They must have noticed by now,_ she thinks. She’d switched off her phone so it wouldn’t ring while she was in the castle, and while she could turn it back on, she doesn’t want to take her hands off of the chain. _I’ll be back soon enough._

“So,” he says after more silence. “Are you my rescuer or my executioner?”

Eleanor allows herself to fantasize about stapling his mouth shut. At least then it would be quiet. 

She’s grateful that it’s early enough that nobody else is around; she doesn’t have the mental energy to come up with a good cover story as to why she’s dragging around Belphegor on a chain—especially since he’s meant to be up in the human world. _Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him,_ she tells herself. But she’s hyper-aware of his presence; every breath he takes is grating to her, and the paranoid part of her wonders if he’s breathing heavier than normal just to freak her out. _It doesn’t matter. We’re almost there._ She can see the gates leading up to the house.

“I have to say that you’re looking much better than I imagined you would.”

Her patience snaps.

She whirls to face him, teeth bared in the way she’s seen some of the stronger of her classmates do to weaker demons—it’s a show of strength that she knows she can’t back up. Still, it’s gratifying to see the way his eyes widen in surprise for a second before he masters himself again. 

“So ferocious,” he tells her, grinning maliciously down at her. “Tell me, did you really think that these sigils would protect you from me?” He yanks his arms towards himself so that she’s knocked off balance and catches her wrist, sliding her sleeve down her arm in one easy motion. He scoffs at her craftsmanship, pressing a finger to where the inside of her sleeve has smudged the ink. “Not very good at this, are you?”

“Shut up,” she snaps, yanking her arm away from him, eyes wide and terrified. “Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me.” She stares up at him, afraid that if she breaks eye contact he’ll do something; she knows that they’re standing outside in the dark, but all she can see is the ceiling above his head, the little decorations in the attic dangling up above him. There’s only the faintest pink line to show that she even fought back at him. It makes her blood boil.

“I should have gouged your eye out when I had the chance,” she spits at him, knowing even as she says it that she doesn’t mean it. Defense is one thing, but even thinking back to the way the blade cut through flesh makes her feel sick. Her point made better than she’d meant to, she whirls on her heel again, wanting to get back to the house as quickly as possible. She doesn’t care what he thinks of her—only that he leaves her alone—but she’s glad that nobody heard her say that.

It isn’t that she’s expecting a welcoming party when she steps through the front doors of the House of Lamentation, but she’s expecting _something._ Instead, it’s silent. Dark. A far cry from someone yelling at her as soon as she enters, which is what she’d been expecting. 

“Hello?” She calls out as loudly as she can, which still isn’t very loud. She clears her throat and tries again, her voice raspy.

“Save your strength.” Lucifer’s voice is clipped, which means he’s angry, which means that the relief Eleanor felt flow through her just a moment ago withers away instantly. She tenses, her fingers tight around the chain. Belphegor, at least, doesn’t seem any more comfortable than she does; she can tell by the way that the chain drags against the ground Belphegor’s shoulders have slumped.

“Morning, Lucifer,” she says as she drops the chain, glad to be rid of Belphegor for as long as she can. Belphegor doesn’t move, but she ascends the stairs as quickly as she can—anything to get closer to one of the few beings she trusts at least a little in the Devildom and away from one of the many she doesn’t. 

“What,” he grinds out when she finally makes her way to him. “Have you _done._ ” Lucifer clenches his D.D.D. in his hand and she knows she hadn’t been able to beat the news home. She shrugs. Lucifer scowls down at her but quickly looks away, back down towards Belphegor. “Mammon, if you'll do something with him, please.”

There’s little to argue when he turns her and guides her down the hallway towards his bedroom. She’s too tired to fight, anyway; the mental and emotional exhaustion making her pliable, only able to offer verbal caprice. 

“You smell like blood,” he states plainly as he presses his hand against her back to propel her forward. His words almost make her stop walking completely, but he’s insistent. 

“Oh, gross—you can _smell_ that?” The words fly out of her mouth before she can stop them, but something akin to hysteria is bubbling inside of her, making her lips looser. “And why are you taking me to your room?”

He opens his bedroom door and ushers her inside, snapping it shut behind him. She hears the lock click.

“Because everyone knows not to enter here needlessly,” he tells her pointedly. “Now, sit.” She does as she’s told, taking a place on the couch he’s indicated. When she turns around to track him through the room, she’s surprised to see his hands full of gauze and bandages and antiseptic wash. 

“I can do it, you don’t have to—” the look he gives her silences her immediately. She bites her lip and nods at him, not sure what to make of his silence or the hard glint to his eyes. It’s unnerving, but she’s not sure she’d like him chatty, either. 

“Shirt,” he says, the single word enough of an order. She glances down at herself and then back up at him before sighing heavily and rolling the bottom of her shirt up so that the bandage is exposed. Wordlessly, he sits down next to her and unwinds the dressing. She considers looking away, considers tearing her eyes away from the way his gloved hands skim over the bruising he reveals but she finds herself unable to.

 _No,_ she thinks, the ghoulish desire to get a good look at her injuries overtaking her. _I want to see exactly what happened._

He smooths his hands across the planes of her stomach the same way she had earlier, tracing the damage. He keeps his head ducked low so that she can’t see his expression, the longer locks of his hair almost brushing against the folds of her shirt. All that’s left is the thick bandage that’s taped to her skin.

“This might hurt,” is the only warning he gives her before he yanks it off. Eleanor grits her teeth but can’t stop herself from swearing as she almost kicks him away from her.

“What did I ever do to you?” She whines, her skin stinging. Tears collect in the corners of her eyes more from the shock than the actual pain of it. The bandage he’s ripped from her is hardly dirtied; aside from a few spots of blood, it looks perfectly clean to her. Eleanor sneaks a peek down and is shocked to see that it’s almost completely healed.

“I hope that’s rhetorical,” he bites out drily, bringing her back to the moment. She looks back up to see that he’s staring at her and she blinks owlishly at him. _Was that… a joke?_ The thought is almost preposterous; she knows that he can joke. She’s seen him do it before. But she hadn’t been expecting him to attempt humor at a time like this. _I might be slightly less boned than I thought,_ she thinks with relief.

She hisses as he needlessly cleans her scarring skin, the antiseptic stinging the delicate area, and she grabs his shoulder with one hand, fingers burying themselves in his shirt collar. It might have bruised another human, but she knows that Lucifer barely registers the contact. 

“It’s looking better,” she says to break the silence. “Even from this morning, it must…” She trails off, not sure if she should bring up her suspicions about Lilith to him or not. She decides against telling him that she suspects whatever Lilith has done to bring her back is still working, just… slower. Lucifer hums in response—too dignified to grunt—as if he knows her thoughts. 

She tugs her shirt back down, glad that he hasn’t gone overboard on the bandaging this time; whoever it was that did it before had been a little overzealous. But he doesn’t sit up, which means that neither can she, and she finds herself sprawled out on his couch. _I should be nervous,_ she knows, but she finds that she’s strangely calm about being trapped underneath him. Her gaze shifts down to one of his hands, which rests on her upper thigh.

“Hey. Can I do something that you might hate?”

He’s about to tell her no; she can tell by the way his lips purse together as if to scold her for her question. But then he stops and looks away from her, and she takes that as permission to go ahead. Eleanor reaches out to grab his hand, pulling it close to her as she undoes the button at his wrist, peeling the glove down his hand. Her fingers trace the fine lines on his palm as she slides the glove off, all the way up his pale fingers. 

“You’re burned,” she says, looking at the red, angry-looking splotches on his fingertips. She holds his glove tight in one of her hands while the other she holds just barely away from his so that she can feel the heat radiating from him. “How?”

He doesn’t reply, stubborn in the way that he watches her face. She’s aware that she looks awful and is grateful for the way that it doesn’t show in his expression.

“I know what happened. That I died,” she confesses, glancing away from him when he looks up at her sharply. There’s the hint of a contradiction in the slant of his mouth but he stops when she puts his fingers between his and curls her fingers over the back of his hand. She hates the way her voice half cracks, an ill-timed reminder of the event that has them together, alone in his room.

“You did. And before Lilith used her last miracle to bring you back, she bid me to hold onto your soul so that you would not… ascend,” he tells her, spitting out the last words as if it existed bitter on his tongue. But his words feel right. They ring true to her and she gives his hand a tight squeeze. _I did that? I burned him?_

“Can I do one more thing that you might hate?” She asks, and he looks hard at her as she gives him an encouraging smile. When he doesn’t deny her for a second time she leans forward slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the least burned of his fingers. He remains stolid and still, a predator watching prey. “Thank you.”

“Why did you do it?” He asks, and his voice is almost raw in a way that makes the breath catch in her throat. She swallows hard and closes her eyes.

“I wanted you two to talk, at least,” she says, keeping her eyes closed. “I didn’t know how it would end up, but… Please just talk to him. Explain to him about Lilith, if he doesn’t already know. It might… Bring him some peace.” _It might bring_ you _some peace,_ she wants to tell him but doesn’t. The rift that tore between the two might be healed by a long overdue explanation. _Belphegor lied to me when he said he just wanted a talk, but that’s what he’s going to get,_ she decides. She doubts Lucifer would deny her that request.

“And after that? Lord Diavolo said that you would oversee his punishment.”

“Mmm,” she acknowledges his words even as she closes her eyes and turns her head to the side. “I don’t know. I didn’t plan that far ahead; I just knew that nobody would be able to move on if he was up in the castle. Don’t take this the wrong way, but… I don’t really care what happens to him. You know better than I do—any advice?” She cracks an eye open to see that he’s scowling, but not at her. Eleanor closes her eye again and sighs, wishing that she was tired enough to take advantage of how quiet his room is. _Levi will probably have a good movie to watch,_ she consoles herself, stirring to leave; she doubts Lucifer will have much to say on the subject of punishing his own brother.

Instead, he traces her jaw with a bare finger and then leans down to press an absurdly chaste kiss to the corner of her lips. Her eyes fly open and she turns to look at him, almost irritated that she’d allowed herself to be played so easily when she sees the smirk on his face.

“Perhaps I have some ideas,” he tells her, brushing some of the hair that’s loosened from her braid out of her face. There’s a sharp edge to his voice, but it’s gone when he looks her in the eyes, cradling the side of her face. “Perhaps I have even more for when you’re feeling more yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be taking a writing break for a few days, but I'm NOT abandoning this fic! I just need a little R&R. ~180k words is more than I thought I'd ever do in less than three months. But apparently we're getting new lessons soon, so that's exciting! If they drop Monday or Tuesday, the break might be slightly extended so I can get through as many of them as possible to see how they shake out re: this fic. But again, I'm coming back.


	57. Broken Bridges

She’s not hiding.At least, that’s what she tells herself as she curls up under her blankets, table pushed in front of her door, curtains drawn, her phone shut off as it has been for the past two days. Part of her knows that a table in front of a door or a locked window wouldn’t stop a determined demon. They especially wouldn’t stop a determined,  _ angry _ demon, which is why she’s been practicing her wards and protection circles. Every few hours she traces over the ink on her arms until she can feel the magic bubbling in her veins, crawls on top of the table to check that the runes painted on the top lip of her door frame are still there. 

_ Did you really think that these sigils would protect you from me? _

She hears the question over and over again, every time she closes her eyes to try to sleep. Feels his fingers wrap around her wrist with bruising force. Sees the glint in his purple eyes as he raises the knife high.

Those are the thoughts that have her up and walking, pacing around the edges of her room like a caged tiger, irritability and fear her only companions. She thinks that the sprites stopped visiting yesterday, but with the lack of natural light in the Devildom, it’s hard for her to tell. Any knocking or voices at her door she ignores, burying herself in her bedding until they go away. 

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’m so stupid. I’m probably only worrying them. I was okay. Why can’t I be okay? _ And until she found herself alone in her room after her meeting with Lucifer, she’d been able to pretend to herself that she’d been fine. Aching and hurt from her walking, but otherwise composed and put together. 

But then her door closed behind her and she heard the lock click into place and she picked up every single thing that wasn’t too heavy to lift so she could throw it around her room. Clothes hang from her mirror, obscuring her reflection. Books, scattered across her floor, are open to random pages still. Not even the brazier, with its cold coals, was spared from her frenetic release; it sits sideways against her wall, its lid dented slightly. 

She steps over it now as she paces, wishing she could kick her past self; it’s cold enough in her room that she thinks she might be able to see her breath cloud in front of her if she concentrates. But the sharp bite of the air and the way her fingers shake remind her that she is, in fact, still alive. It’s the closest to calm that she’s been since she thought that she was stuck in another one of Leviathan’s games with Lucifer. 

Some small, buried part of her knows that isolating herself is not helping, that hiding away isn’t going to do anything.  _ The more time they waste thinking about you is time they could be using to mend themselves, _ that insidious part whispers to her when she catches herself staring at her doorknob.  _ But are they worrying? What do you want—for one of them to tear down the door? _ Eleanor shudders. Her thoughts race so fast that she can’t keep up with them, and she finds herself left behind in her own mind. At least her pacing makes her feel like she might catch up eventually.

She stops suddenly in her tracks, pulling the blanket tight around her shoulders until she’s half afraid it might tear across her back. Before she can even pinpoint the thought that leads her to it, she’s stumbling towards her bathroom. Hot water cascades into her tub, and she watches the tendrils of steam bloom in the air. It makes her fingers ache when she dips them into the water, warmth and life forced back into them. 

The blanket falls from her shoulders and she lets it land on the tiled floor; it’s quickly followed by her clothes. She keeps her eyes down, away from the mirror as she unwinds the bandage spanning her midsection; her gaze is locked on the purple bruises, going green and brown at the very edges as they appear from underneath the gauze. Her fingers brush against the scar, and a tiny bubble of satisfaction bursts within her when she sees the way her skin has knit back together. It’s still fresh and new enough that it doesn’t feel like anything at all when she traces it with a ragged fingernail. It only hurts when she scratches the very edges, where it meets normal skin. 

The water almost overflows when she steps into her tub and comes even closer to sloshing over when she sinks down low enough for it to cover her shoulders. Color returns to her skin where the hot water touches it and all of her nerves feel like they’re buzzing. For a while she stays that way, unwinding her hair from the braid she’d kept it in, too tired to do anything else about it. The water laps at her neck when she sinks down a little further.

She lets herself sink below the water line in her bath, feels the heat of it slip up and over her face, dragging her hair down with the weight of water. Opens her eyes. Watches the bubbles rise to the top when she opens her mouth and screams until her lungs are empty. When she sits up, water droplets rolling down her back, her chest is heavy. 

_ It would be easy to stay under—no, no I have to keep going, have to keep breathing—there is a reason Lilith brought me back, I just have to find it—I’ve served my purpose here, everything else is unnecessary— _

She scrubs at her skin as if that might erase the thoughts from her head, hard enough to rub her skin raw. 

* * *

They are patient; or at least, they’re capable of being patient when it matters most. That patience is tempered by the paralyzing fear of not knowing what to do. Belphegor is back—he’s no longer locked up in the attic, and their family is whole again. But he’s not allowed to freely walk the halls. He needs an escort, per Lucifer’s orders, and is to be kept far, far away from Eleanor’s room. All of them, at some point—even if it was a fleeting moment, little more than half a thought—have considered the idea that she might be safest elsewhere, far away from the House of Lamentation. Almost just as quickly, the idea is eliminated for a variety of reasons: nobody else has a pact with her, she belongs at the House, she’s better off with them, even with Belphegor nearby. 

But the patience wanes quickly enough, overcome with the worry and frustration felt by all but the youngest brother. Lucifer’s order to let her have space is a constant refrain that knocks through the halls, an unwanted additional reminder that she’s kept herself locked away, eschewing any type of contact. 

The first day was confusing, until Satan reminded them all that she’s human and likely needed time processing everything that happened. Lucifer explained that she had new duties, and she isn’t the type to abandon them—whether the ‘them’ referred to the duties or the brothers goes unanalyzed in case of an unfavorable conclusion. Asmodeus suggested that it might be easier to follow her lead whenever she comes out ot of her hermetic seclusion, and that they should keep themselves cheerful until then. 

So they wait.

Until waiting becomes almost unbearable. 

“She’s not answerin’ her door,” Mammon says as he throws himself onto the couch back first. “And her phone is off. Still.” Lucifer doesn’t look up from his paperwork, but the pen in his fingers stills; Asmodeus grips his phone just a little bit tighter. 

“I’m gonna go try again,” Mammon continues when neither of his brothers react to the old news he’s offered; he’s starting to wonder if he’s the only one who cares what the weird little human is up to. Beelzebub sought out Belphegor as soon as Lucifer released him, which feels like something of a betrayal to the second-oldest. Leviathan keeps himself glued to one of his handheld gaming systems, and Satan buries himself in dull-looking books several inches thick.

“Do  _ not, _ ” Lucifer orders as he glances up at his brothers, a warning clear in his narrowed eyes. Leviathan sighs. 

“Ugh,” Asmodeus groans, tossing his phone to the side. It lands on the little table beside the couch. “Levi, how many times have you sighed now?”

“... I dunno. Maybe ten? Something like that?” Leviathan shrugs, looking up at his brother long enough that his game beeps out a death sequence for his character. Leviathan swears and mashes a few buttons to restart his level. 

“It’s been thirty times at least,” Satan announces, placing his now-empty teacup down on the saucer he brought with it. 

“Yes, but what about  _ you, _ Satan? How many cups of tea have you had?” Asmodeus points to the empty cup, his hands overly manicured. All of the free time has him picking out imaginary flaws. “You know, if that stomach of yours gets all bloated from tea, I’m going to find you  _ much _ less appealing.” A muscle in Satan’s jaw jumps, his patience for the ways his brothers are finding to distract themselves wearing thin. 

“I could not possibly care less whether you find me appealing or not, Asmo. And instead of criticizing  _ me, _ how about you say something to Mammon here?” Satan jerks his thumb towards the brother in question, who has pressed a pillow to his face. The pillow does nothing to muffle the way he groans.

“This sucks so much!” He grumbles into the pillow, only increasing in volume when he discovers how irritating his brothers find it. Asmodeus picks up another pillow and lobs it directly at his brother’s head. 

“Mammon, dear, do you think maybe you could stop bellyaching and grumbling to yourself?”

“Yeah,” Leviathan jumps into the conversation. “It’s super annoying.” Mammon sits up and glares at Leviathan and Asmodeus, the pillow pulled away from his face.

“Shuddup! How can I be chill at a time like this, huh?” With one arm he gestures down, where Belphegor rests. With the other he gestures vaguely in the direction of Eleanor’s room, where she’s remained quiet for far too long, in his opinion. Lucifer remains as tight-lipped as ever when it comes to what he said to Eleanor or did to Belphegor at her behest. The most he was willing to offer is that he had a conversation with the youngest, but Lucifer offers no additional information that might help to clarify what, exactly, that conversation entailed. 

“I mean, she’s all holed up in her room. Alone! And like, Eleanor might seem like the type who’s really got it together and stuff, but there’s a real boneheaded streak that pops up at the  _ weirdest _ times!” He thinks back to her diving from the platform at the academy and shakes his head. “Boneheaded, weak, and super reckless. And too damn gutsy. Ya never knows when she’s gonna take some sorta crazy risk. Just makes me wanna be there just in case, ya know? Like, I  _ gotta _ be there, or who knows what’ll happen?” He holds his hands out to his brothers, waiting for them to agree with him. But for the most part, they’re all stuck in their own memories; it’s Leviathan that breaks the small silence first.

“Mmhm, sure. Eleanor is  _ sooo _ special to you. What, are we supposed to be impressed or something?” He turns back to his game but doesn’t resume it; it remains paused as he shuffles through his own thoughts.

“Ooh,” Asmodeus sighs, a faint flush spreading across his cheeks at the direction his own thoughts take. “I know exactly what you mean! It’s like, you can’t help but want to lie down together on a bed or a sofa and do all sorts of naughty—” 

“Now is hardly the time,” Satan snaps. “You’d  _ better _ not do that, Asmo.” But his fingers trace the area on his neck she’d sucked bruises into to throw off the witch who’d been pestering him. 

“Excuse me? Could that be jealousy I hear, Satan? Relax—I still think you’re cute, too. And besides, as cute as she is, I’ll have plenty of time to catch up with her as soon as she’s feeling better. Who better to comfort her, after all?” Satan eyes his brother warily, not convinced that Asmodeus’s brand of comfort is exactly what a recovering human would need. Judging by the way Lucifer has been staring at the same spot on his paperwork for the duration of the conversation, Satan would wager that he agrees.

“... Yeah, Eleanor really is pretty cute, don’t you think? And sort of… hard not to like, you know? Do you think Belphie—”

“Wait a minute!” Asmodeus gasps, interrupting Leviathan’s question before he can finish it and pull the conversation down to where nobody wants to venture just yet. Better to keep it light. “Levi, am I hearing what I think I’m hearing?”

“You’ve only ever been interested in your anime characters, Levi. Has something changed?” Satan resists the urge to reach out and ruffle his brother’s hair, but he’s as grateful as anyone else for a slight diversion in the conversation. 

“Woah, is it just me, or does that sound like a sign that Armageddon is about to hit?” Mammon ignores the way Leviathan’s cheeks go bright crimson and the way he ducks behind the sweep of his hair. 

“Hey, come on! Stop looking at me like that! U-um, Asmo, why don’t you try one more time to get her out of her room? O-or go secude Solomon, see if he can get her to come out,” Leviathan suggests from behind his gaming device. 

“I know you’re just trying to change the subject, dear brother, but we’ve been explicitly warned against doing just that. Or I have, at least,” Asmodeus adds thoughtfully, ignoring the sharp glare from Lucifer. Aside from visual warnings, Lucifer has been doing his best to pretend he’s not in the room at all. 

“Besides, if anyone’s seducin’ her, it should be me!”

“You don’t need to remind us that you’ve got it bad for her, Mammon. Keep it to yourself.” Leviathan is glad to have the conversation shifted away from him, faux disgust heavy in his tone to further avert attention. 

“Powers of seduction don’t work on her anyway, do you couldn’t do it even if you wanted to,” Satan points out as if he’d also been considering the plot for a moment himself. But then his brows furrow. “Come to think of it… Why are we all so hung up on her anyway? She’s just one human, even if…” He lets his sentence die, not sure how he would have ended it himself. Asmodeus hums at his brother’s question and makes a show of tapping his chin with his finger, as if deep in thought.

“I guess she’s just special!” Asmodeus finally settles on, his smile brilliant. Mammon nods emphatically. “Still, let’s be honest. When it comes down to it, out of all of us, I’m the only one she has eyes for.” Every head turns to the Avatar of Lust, all sporting various levels of scowls.

“Oi! What’re you talkin’ about?” Mammon leaps to his feet as if he’s ready to fight. 

“Well, it’s only natural, right? I mean, show me a human who doesn’t find me absolutely irresistible.” Asmodeus preens at his own words.

“I’ll have you know that Eleanor said that I was a true friend,” Leviathan pouts. “She even said that she’s my Henry!” Mammon sputters before regaining his ability to speak coherently.

“You’re all dumb as hell—did ya forget?  _ I _ was Eleanor’s first! So clearly,  _ I’m _ the one deservin’ all of the love!” He doesn’t mention that she told him she loved him over a cup of noodles; that he wants to keep all to himself. Worse still, he doesn’t want to be proven wrong, somehow, only to have his brothers laugh about it later. Leviathan coughs. Asmodeus rolls his eyes, But it’s Satan who brings his hand up to his chest, his cheeks furiously red. 

“Mammon, don’t be intentionally misleading,” Asmodeus sighs, exasperated, as he pats Satan on his back. “You’ve got Satan here thinking that you actually  _ were _ her first! Satan, what Mammon means is that he was the first one to make a  _ pact, _ okay?” His words are soothing and gentle.

“Like I care,” Satan bites out, but he doesn’t meet Mammon’s eyes. Privately, he still fights the urge to call his brother a scumbag, just because. Satan doesn’t like the way his mind raced at the insinuation—the way half a dozen questions intruded on his mind at the mere suggestion of the human writing underneath his brother. She’s so breakable—the fact that she’s locked herself in her room is testament to that—and he hates the way he was allowed to wonder, even for a moment, if Mammon had been gentle. 

But Asmodeus’s words are something of a balm, and Satan is able to hide the way his fingers twitch.

“If you don’t care, then why do you look so relieved?” Leviathan teases. “We can all see it on your face, Satan.” Satan offers his brother only a scowl in return. It’s this moment that Lucifer chooses to remind his brothers that he’s still there, even if he has been somewhat pleased that they haven’t roped him into their nonsense. He stands, allowing his height to re-announce his presence.

“If you can find it within yourself to  _ keep your hands to yourselves, _ ” he starts, the warning directed mostly at Asmodeus, “then I don’t see why you shouldn’t try and get her to leave her room, as long as that is what  _ she _ wishes. I will be checking on Belphegor.” 

He’s spent a lot of time during Eleanor’s self-imposed exile speaking to his brother. Discussing what it was, exactly, Lilith wanted, her parting words before she used her last miracle on Eleanor. He’s shown his youngest brother Lilith’s room and allowed him to stay there for the time being, to wrap himself up in his sister’s essence until he’s ready to finally say goodbye and come to terms with what happened during the Celestial War. Part of him knows that this approach is best, that words will likely reach him better than the harsh punishments Lucifer wishes to dole out. 

And he knows that Eleanor isn’t going to be going away any time soon; exchange program aside, she’s pledged her loyalty and service to Diavolo in a cruel, twisted reflection of what Lucifer himself has done. All in service to a family that isn’t hers. Lucifer is surprised, almost, at the rush of anger that this thought brings to him, that this was allowed to happen in his house, under his watch. 

“Lilith brought her down here, you know,” Lucifer told him when he thought Belphegor was ready to hear it. “To us. To keep her from the Celestial Realm and, perhaps, to save you from yourself; there wasn’t much time for her to detail her every thought.” Lucifer still isn’t sure if the way Belphegor’s eyes lit up at his words is a portend of good or ill intent, as far as Eleanor is concerned. But his brother remains listless in Lilith’s room, unwilling to leave for most things. 

It’s the same today, when Lucifer visits. Belphegor only marginally perks up when Lucifer mentions Eleanor’s name.

“So, she still hasn’t left her room?” Belphegor asks, his tone innocent; Lucifer wonders if it’s another facade put up and his pride is injured in the knowledge that he cannot read this brother as easily as he can read his others. Too much damage has been done between them for the easy communication they had before. Lucifer only nods in response to his brother’s question. 

“Hmm,” Belphegor replies, his eyes shuttered, his thoughts hidden. “Tell me more about her, will you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be up yesterday! But 2020 remains 2020 and I hit a snag. Mea culpa.


	58. The Same Bad Reasons

She turns her phone on to a flurry of missed messages and phone calls, enough that her phone stutters and freezes and she has to reset it halfway through. It takes a while for the vibrating to calm down, and the piled-up messages only make her feel more guilty that she already had been. 

“Guess I really messed it up, huh?” She muses aloud, scrolling through everything but reading nothing. She can tell that she’s caused some problems. The mentions of Belphegor that she sees tell her that the brothers seem to be focused more on her than their returned brother. She curls up on her bed, blanket thrown over her head, letting the light from her screen illuminate her face. Her hair is still wet and cold as it trails down her back.

_ This isn’t going to solve anything. _

But she doesn’t know what she’s going to do when ( _ if _ some part of her stubbornly supplies) she walks through her door. There’s too much that she doesn’t know how to handle; she wishes Lilith hadn’t disappeared, that the former angel could explain to her what she’d wanted from her, what task she’d brought her to the Devildom for. Lucifer explained to her the reasons that Lilith gave, but none of them sat right with Eleanor. They still don’t.

_ To just… live? To exist? And nothing else? There has to be something else; she had to have wanted something. Everyone always wants something. _

She taps her phone against her forehead as she thinks, wondering if there is a spell of some sort to help. But she doubts the spell books have anything so specific, anything tailored to her situation. Magic is not the fix-all she’d always hoped it to be, back when she was small and dreaming of magic kisses or glass slippers or spells to summon true love. The closest thing to a fix she can think of is to pretend that nothing happened at all; perhaps by pretending, she thinks, she might be able to fool herself into believing it. 

She feels sick.

But she stands anyway, stretching her legs to test their stability as she makes her way to the table blocking her door. It’s difficult for her to move, and not just because of the physical weight of the thing. The sigils on her arms she washes away as well as she can with a splash of water from her sink.

_ Fake it ‘til you make it, right? _

Eleanor takes a deep breath and swings her bedroom door open. Pokes her head out. Is relieved to see that there’s nobody at her door and that the air feels stale.

The house is quiet. The little witch-lights illuminate her path, soft light falling down to light her footsteps. Her first stop is the kitchen, where she pulls an apple from the fruit bowl that sits tucked away in the corner; it’s not one of Lucifer’s poisoned apples, she notes when she sniffs it. It’s just a regular human-world apple for the regular human inhabitant of the house.

She looks down at her fingers, the way they curl around the yellow-red skin of the fruit. 

_ Am I still human? _ She wonders. It’s a new thought to her, a new path that she’d been ignoring setting down while she hid and licked her wounds. But as far as she knows her blood still bleeds red, her heart still beats the way it always has. 

And when she bites into the apple, it tastes as it should. 

_ But if I’m not human, if there’s enough angel in me that the Celestial Realm takes an interest… is that so bad? _ The idea that she might have actual, real, living family bubbles within her, and she can’t tell if she finds it pleasant or not. She remembers Luke telling her that angels bring their kind home, that they all belong safely tucked away with their own kind.  _ Is that why this all happened? I’m not where I’m supposed to be? _

She takes a seat at the table, feeling the solid food hit her empty stomach as she ponders her options. The idea of home makes her feel giddy and sick all at once. Before she can stop herself, she pulls out her phone and dials. Simeon didn’t seem to agree so strongly with Luke, she remembers, back when the subject was broached on their short camping trip.  _ Maybe, _ she hopes,  _ Simeon will have some answers.  _

* * *

“I’ll have to announce the acquisition of my new ambassador soon, you know,” Diavolo says as if the thought has just come to him. He stares into his cup as Barbatos pours the tea, waiting for any sign of discontentment from either Barbatos or Lucifer. “It could be fun! We could have a party.”

Lucifer waits for the prince to drink before he does, obeying the courtesies that both he himself and Barbatos are such sticklers for.

“That might be unwise at the moment,” Lucifer says slowly. “She is still… adapting.” He does not mention the dark circles under her eyes or the way her shoulders slump down as if gravity has extra hold on them. “And there’s the matter of her heritage.” It’s the closest Lucifer will get to cautioning his friend that there is danger in holding what would have been one of the Celestial Realm’s prized possessions too closely. They’ll know as soon as they see her that she has angel blood running through her veins; without Lilith’s seal to disguise it, it’s painfully obvious. 

Barbatos sets the teapot back down on the table with perhaps more force than necessary. 

“That’s true. Well, something will have to be done, at any rate,” the prince says thoughtfully. “I'd hate to lose a new member of my court so soon. Do you think we should find the angel responsible and ask him to disown her? I imagine that if it was her mother that was the angel, she never would have made it out of the Celestial Realm to begin with, so that narrows it down somewhat.” The pace of his speech picks up as his excitement builds, something that both Lucifer and Barbatos are quite accustomed to. But this time, Lucifer is surprised to find that it irritates him, the way his prince is discussing the life of someone who isn’t even present as if it were little more than the day’s diversion. 

Unbidden, the image of Eleanor crying over the kitchen sink, flames lending her face a warm glow, flows through his mind. 

“I doubt that will be strong enough to break what the Celestial Realm views as their claim to her. They do love their rules,” Lucifer reminds the demon prince. He does not yet feel comfortable outright denying the prince his whims, not after his house arrest has so recently been lifted and the wounds from Belphegor’s imprisonment are still so fresh. 

“True!” Diavolo nods. “I suppose we have to figure something else out.” Barbatos clears his throat, his mouth hidden behind his gloved hand.

“If I might interject here, my lord… Perhaps it would be beneficial to have a noble house here adopt her into their family. That way she is guaranteed a home and will not be without protection,” a gleam in his green eyes that Lucifer knows well to mean that the demon is plotting something. “In addition, it would further ingratiate that house to you, of course.” Diavolo nods in agreement, but does not seem particularly enthused about the idea; the idea that the Celestial Realm will be content to let them switch out one family for another doesn’t seem quite right to him.

“Of course, if nobody here finds that acceptable, I suppose there’s another bond that the Celestial Realm wouldn’t want to interfere with. Political marriages have been common in the human world, have they not? Perhaps she would be amenable to that. We would have to arrange etiquette lessons for her, however,” Barbatos watches as his words find their marks. As he expected, Diavolo is intrigued by the suggestion. Lucifer’s expression goes stormy. 

“That would unify the realms pretty quickly, I think,” Diavolo says slowly. “But…”

“There’s no need to do something so drastic,” Lucifer interrupts. His fingers drum against the table next to his teacup and he watches Barbatos warily. “If you want to throw a party for something so badly, Lord Diavolo, I’m sure we can find some other occasion. One that doesn’t involve unifying the realms… quite so quickly. After all, the exchange program hasn’t even concluded.”

“Naturally, it was in jest,” Barbatos says as he smiles into his tea. Lucifer doesn't know, exactly, what battle he’s just lost, but he knows that he’s lost it. The wide grin on Diavolo’s face tells him that the prince knows it as well. 

* * *

Eleanor steps into the dining room as if nothing has happened at all, taking the seat that’s closest to the doors after a quick check. The relief that washes through her when she sees that Belphegor is not present is almost palpable. She notices that Lucifer is missing almost immediately after.  _ I did tell him I didn’t care what he did, _ she thinks, wondering if she should carry any guilt for that. 

“Hey, Eleanor,” Mammon says, barely looking up as he taps away on his phone. Leviathan’s gaming device drops from his hand and clatters onto the floor. Asmodeus emits what she can only think to describe as a squeal, and Satan stares at her as if he’s waiting for her to evaporate. It’s Beelzebub who stands so fast his chair clatters to the ground behind him, canting to the side to capture her in a hug so fierce he knocks the breath from her lungs. It’s this sudden movement that claims Mammon’s attention, and she watches him do a double-take as he takes her presence in. 

“Oi!” He shouts, standing shortly after Beelzebub. “Get offa her! You’re gonna squish her!”

“I’m fine,” she demures, realizing suddenly how much she’s missed touch. But Beelzebub, chastened by Mammon’s shouting, lets go of her and stands back. Mammon crosses his arms but leans towards her anyway, his attempt at pretending to be unaffected falling flat. When she holds out her arms to him he folds immediately, succumbing to the embrace she offers him. 

“And how are you… feeling?” Satan asks slowly, as if probing for the correct word and not quite finding it. She thinks that his eyes might strip away the mask of bravado she’s wearing, so she forces herself to look into his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she tells him with a wave of her hand; Satan only narrows his eyes in a way that is strikingly reminiscent of Lucifer.

“Really?” It’s clear he doubts her, and Asmodeus follows Satan’s cue by leaning closer to her, clearly waiting for her answer—and the lie that’s about to fall from her lips.

“It isn’t a big deal anyway. No harm, no foul, right?” She forces a smile onto her face, half aware that she’s showing far too many teeth. 

“Oh no,” Asmodeus sighs, peering at her in concern. “She’s broken.” Eleanor only snorts and shakes her head. 

“I’m fine. Really. But can I have the kitchen for the next few hours?” The part of her that knows none of them would deny the request feels bad about is. The rest of her is already exhausted from all of the chaos and movement that being in proximity to five demons brings. But it’s Beelzebub that she’s most concerned about, so she turns to look at him.

Meets his eyes.

Her heart slams against her ribs and she has to force herself to breathe deeply, remember that it’s orange hair that sweeps above them, not the dusky purple-grey of Belphegor. She swallows, trying to ignore the way her throat tightens. 

She has to look away in the end, down at her hands.

“Of course,” Asmodeus says, brows furrowed in confusion. “But wouldn’t you rather—”

“The kitchen is fine,” she tells him before he can continue.

* * *

She knows that she can’t just leave the House of Lamentation again, not without causing even more chaos. She can’t even say that she doesn’t want to be there because she feels that implies that there is somewhere else she would prefer—but there isn’t. Instead, she feels like she exists in a formless void, just waiting for something to reach out and grab her.

So it’s hard to match Luke’s exuberance when he bounces into her arms calling her name. Eleanor wraps him in a tight hug while Simeon shoots her an apologetic glance behind the small angel’s back. 

“I made cookie dough,” she tells Luke, grabbing him by the hand so she can lead him to the kitchen. “We just have to bake it.”

“You should have told me!” Luke gasps. “I would have helped! Or made some of my own! There’s this new recipe I’ve been meaning to try out for Michael…” Eleanor lets him prattle on as Simeon falls into step behind them, wearing the same generous smile he always does. 

“We heard the big news,” Simeon says once they’ve entered the kitchen and Luke is distracted by chocolate chips. “I can tell there’s something… different about you.”

Eleanor glances at Simeon nervously, but she’s grateful that he hasn’t said anything loud enough for Luke to hear. It isn’t that she doesn’t trust the little angel, but she doesn’t know if he’s knowledgeable about all of the potential consequences. 

“Don’t say anything to Luke, yet; he won’t be able to tell himself, just yet. He has a good heart, but he won’t understand the nuance just yet.” Simeon places a finger in front of his lips, miming silence as he smiles. Eleanor nods at him and wraps herself in a hug. It’s enough of an answer for her, as vague as it is.  _ Stay away from the Celestial Realm, for now, _ Simeon’s gaze seems to say. Any spark of hope she’d been fostering drowns in the ocean of his eyes.

“I understand you managed to get Lucifer and those brothers of his to make up!” Simeon says, loud enough for Luke to hear and be drawn into the conversation. Luke looks up from where he’s spooning batter onto a baking tray and smiles.

“Yeah, that’s amazing! I mean… you’re just a human, and yet you managed something like that. By the way—what’s this flavor in the dough?” The shift in Luke’s attention is enough to draw a small laugh from Eleanor.

“Almond extract,” she tells him. “Good, isn’t it?” Luke nods as he scoops some of the dough up on his finger and pops it into his mouth. She watches him and realizes that as far as he’s concerned, nothing has happened at all, other than her not picking up for one of his calls. It hurts, for a reason she can’t determine.

“I have to say, it really is impressive,” Simeon says as he takes a seat. “And I’m guessing that both Belphegor and Lucy are also glad things turn out the way they did.”

Eleanor can’t say  _ I wouldn’t know, _ so she latches onto the only other lifeline she has. “Lucy?”

Even Luke seems stunned by the nickname, torn between laughing and staring at Simeon, aghast. 

“Oh dear… Sorry about that! It’s an old habit of mine, calling him that. Michael and I used to call Lucifer ‘Lucy’ every now and then—but do me a favor and forget that you ever heard it. If you don’t, Lucifer will kill me for sure!” Simeon smiles wide at the last part, and it’s the first time Eleanor thinks she’s ever seen so much as a hint of anger from the angel. It makes her feel uneasy.

“Simeon! Could you be angry at him? Is that it? Because Lucifer  _ was _ keeping secrets from you. Deep inside, I bet your livid!” With the tactless precision that only childhood can bring, Luke asks Simeon the one thing the other angel would prefer not to discuss. Simeon barks out a laugh that is entirely too forced, and Luke looks away from his mentor to study the human again.

“You look sad, Eleanor. Is something troubling you?”

Eleanor tries to keep her sigh internal and fails, knowing that she shouldn’t have counted on Luke to be totally blind. She drags her fingers through her hair, and eyes both of the angels warily.  _ How much of the truth can I get away with? _

“Yeah. I… Since Belphegor came back, there’s something of a divide between himself and his brothers. I don’t know how to fix it.” She almost bites her tongue as she says it, wrestling with her own convictions. One part of her—the angry, spiteful, terrified part—wants Belphegor to continue to suffer, for the same walls to be built around him that she’s built around herself through fear. The rest of her wants them to make up so that when she leaves at the end of the year, her presence will have meant something. She wonders which side will win out in the end.

_ Maybe this is what I’m here for, _ she thinks before almost gagging on the thought. It feels bitter to her. 

“Counseling out little lambs in their times of need is our job, after all. Isn’t it, Luke?” Simeon smiles at Luke, who only shrugs. 

“Is it that big of a deal, though? Think about it—whatever is between them is only temporary. Those demons never take anything seriously; in a few days, it’ll be like nothing ever happened. That’s just how demons are.” The callous words are shocking, coming from a face and voice like Luke’s; Eleanor has to remind herself that the angel, though young, is still older than her by several hundred years. And then his words hit her and she bites her lip.

_ Like nothing ever happened. _ It’s what she’s been trying to pretend, and even after only a few hours she’s already exhausted from it.  _ Maybe it will be easier if everyone else is pretending, too. _

“I don’t know about that. I think they’re a bit more sensitive than you realize,” Simeon says to Luke, his eyes on Eleanor. Luke only shrugs and pops the cookies into the oven. “And even if it’s true that the situation will resolve itself over time, that doesn’t change the fact that things are difficult now.”

“Any advice?” Her voice is carefully neutral and she avoids eye contact with Simeon. 

“If that’s what you really want,” Simeon hedges, watching her reaction carefully. “You could serve as something of a bridge between the brothers. Communication is key, after all; perhaps a little push is all that’s needed.” He’d be more impressed with her resolve if he knew that it wasn’t actively harming her to keep herself still. “For example, Luke, whenever you want to ask Barbatos for a new recipe for some sort of cake or scone, you always make sure to take Solomon with you.” 

Luke blushes in anger and embarrassment, muttering something about Barbatos that Eleanor doesn’t catch. Simeon only goads him into a response, which Eleanor knows is for her benefit, to take Luke’s eyes from her as she processes the information. 

“I-I’m not afraid of him!” Luke protests Simeon’s prodding. Simeon only smiles and pats him on the head, pointing to the oven.

“Whatever you say, Luke. But you might want to retrieve your cookies before they burn.” Luke gasps and turns away from Simeon and Eleanor, the too-big oven mitts on his hands almost comical. 

“Be sure to let me know how things turn out, hmm?” Simeon directs to Eleanor as he holds her hands in a reassuring grip. She offers him a weak smile and a nod. 

_ I can do this, _ she tries to tell herself.  _ It’s a new purpose, right, Lilith? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Barbatos just yanking Lucifer's chain? Or is he scoping out his friend's intentions towards his old flame's adopted daughter? You decide! :D
> 
> Also, a specific request: if you have the text to the Lucifer's Lover card, please consider sending it my way! I don't know why I thought I had it, but I do not. Alack.


	59. Hurricane

Fairly early on, she discovers that she doesn’t have time to think of much at all if she just keeps herself busy. Unfortunately, classes haven’t resumed just yet, and her list of things to do is starting to run thin. She knows that Belphegor has been allowed to freely roam the house—mostly—and, according to Leviathan, at least, shows no interest so far in leaving it at all. She uses that to her advantage; every time an errand needs to be run, no matter how small, she makes sure that she’s the one doing it. 

When there’s a midnight release for a game Leviathan has been waiting for, she’s right beside him in line, pulling him away to an all-night cafe to prolong her time away from the house. He blushes and stutters and calls it a normie thing to do, but doesn’t actually protest when she orders something for them to split. They don’t get back until just before some of the earliest risers in the house start to stir. 

She knows she wouldn’t have been able to sleep, anyway. Every time she tries to settle down for more than an hour or two at a time, she’s yanked back into consciousness with a racing heart and mounting dread coursing through her veins. 

Beelzebub doesn’t talk much, when she tags along with him for whatever new restaurant or streetside cafe he’s found. But she knows that more often than not, his eyes are fixed on her as she stares out windows or down streets, tense and hyper aware of everything around her. Progress is slow for her, but after a few days she’s able to look into his eyes and not see his brother. It helps that he smiles encouragingly at her and that she doesn’t have to tell him what her problem is; he knows without asking.

Satan does not offer to take her out onto the town again, and a small part of her wonders if it’s because he doesn’t want to run into the tarot reader again. Instead, he shows her around the forest behind the House of Lamentation, witch lights bobbing along behind them bright enough that she almost feels like the sun is at her back. Far out in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the eerie call of the Devildom birds actually helps to put her at ease sometimes; there are no walls to feel like they’re closing in on her, no little creaks and groans of the ancient house settling for her to flinch or jump at. The only downside is that, sometimes, she suspects Satan prefers to take the long route back when she’s already exhausted. 

Anywhere loud and crowded is where she wants to be, so her forest sojourns with Satan happen less often than her chaotic outings with Mammon, or shopping sprees with Asmodeus. Even Lucifer, in his own way, provides some sort of distraction by dumping council work on her. The work and additional meeting are her own fault, she supposes, but for now, she’s happy enough to have them; after all, Belphegor seems even less inclined to want to spend time around Diavolo than he does Lucifer. 

But there are the quiet moments, too, where she finds herself withdrawing, detaching from her surroundings as she lets her mind wander, playing out endless scenarios and what-ifs of things that could have happened. She doesn’t like the quiet moments; she feels like she’s spiraling. It doesn’t help that whenever she’s alone she imagines that there are eyes on her, catching every move she makes. When she looks, there’s never anything there. Nothing lurking in the shadows.

Sometimes she stands at the foot of the attic stairs, when things get too noisy in her mind. She doesn’t climb them—just stands and stares, face slack as she remembers being dragged up against her own will. Her palm rests heavy on the railing as she cranes her head back, face tilted up. More often than not her mind goes blank, quiet terror creeping in from the edges until she doubts she can force her limbs to bend, to climb the stairs even if she wanted to. Sometimes she stands there until something distracts her, snaps her back to herself so that she can walk away, find a new distraction. 

Today it’s her phone buzzing in her pocket, reminding her that it’s dinnertime. It feels like waking from a dream as she turns on her heel and makes her way to the dining room, and she’s still coming back to herself as she slides into her usual chair. She’s the last one to arrive and she tries to remember what it means to act naturally as the demons glance up at her. 

Asmodeus is already in the middle of telling a story, some embellished tale that happened earlier in the day as he twirls a butter knife around to illustrate his point. She watches it glint, catching light from the sconces on the wall. There’s a buzzing on her ears, but all she can focus on is the dull blade between the demon’s slim fingers as the tip of it makes lazy circles in the air. And then something bumps her shoulder.

She snaps back into herself all at once with a shudder so hard she knocks over her water glass. Frigid water cascades down the table, pooling in the eye sockets of the decorative skulls carved into the lip and legs of the table.

“Eleanor?” She looks up to see Beelzebub looking at her, brows furrowed in concern, hand extended towards her shoulder. His plate is only half-empty. She forces herself to look back at him, her stomach twisting unpleasantly when she meets his eyes.  _ Purple. But they’re different, _ she reminds herself, and she holds onto those differences like they’re a lifeline. Beelzebub’s are a little wider, more expressive. Devoid of the heavy lids that make Belphegor look half asleep even when he’s awake.  _ Different, _ she thinks again, and then she looks to the ground where the rug has soaked up her spilled water. 

“Excuse me,” she says, standing quickly. “I’m not really feeling that well.” Eleanor strides towards the exit, careful to keep her steps even and sure. Calm. Collected. One of the brothers behind her is saying something, but she can’t focus on them. 

Not when Belphegor stands before her in the doorway, staring right down at her. His face is expressionless, a cool mask, and she finds herself drawn to his eyes.  _ Nothing like Beelzebub, _ she thinks before panic overwhelms her.

“You—” he starts, but she doesn’t let him finish.

Like a dam breaking, his voice spurs ber back into movement. She dashes away from him, into the hallway, up the first flight of stairs. Anything to put distance between herself and Belphegor. She doesn’t know she’s shaking until she’s on her knees in front of the winding staircase leading up to the attic. 

_ I have to get over this, _ she thinks, angry with herself for being so afraid.  _ They all act like nothing’s happened. Why can’t I? _

She’s not sure what possesses her to climb the stairs. It certainly isn’t Lilith. But she makes her way up, leaning heavy on the railing to support her weight until she’s standing on the landing she’s lurked on so many times before. 

“Go in,” she orders herself, hoping that saying the words aloud will help to steel her resolve. Irrationally, she hopes that facing the attic will help her move past the cloying, sickly dread that she constantly feels like she’s drowning in. Might help to dispel the nervous energy that keeps her moving past the point of her own exhaustion.

She takes a deep breath.

And steps into the attic.

* * *

It looks the same as she assumes it always has. Littered with the detritus of someone else’s life, boxes and clutter stacked haphazardly, threatening to tip over at the slighted stray draft of air. She ignores the way her lungs tighten, the way air seems to be in short supply, and forces herself further inside the room.

_ It’s nothing, _ she tells herself.  _ Four walls, a ceiling, and a floor. Just a room. _ She repeats the words like a mantra until she spots something new—at least, she thinks it’s new. The rug is spread out in an odd place; she can’t think of a reason for it to be there, half under the bed, arranged at an odd angle. Eleanor drops to her knees and rolls it up as well as she can, pushing it away from herself. 

_ Right, _ she thinks, staring down at the floor.  _ This is where it happened. _

Impressions of dark, rusty stains still remain, and she scratches against the wood grain with her thumbnail, wondering if they’ll ever be completely washed away. She doubts it. Some ghoulish impulse takes over and she lies down on the stain, staring up at the ceiling. The little decorations still swing above her, she notes distantly. 

Flat on her back, she stretches out on the floor, wondering if her blood made it all the way down to the subfloor below the floorboards. Everything else seems so clean, but she knows that wiping away every trace of what happened is nigh impossible. She closes her eyes, folding her hands together just under her chest, right above where her scar is. The bruising has mostly faded, eased along by the creams Asmodeus brought to her. All that remains is a delicate patch of scarred, inflexible skin. 

_ Almost as if nothing even happened. _

She’s fairly certain that she died right where she sprawls out, life essence leaking from her while Belphegor loomed murderous above. She pushes the memory from her mind, focusing on breathing. Pulling air into her lungs. Pushing it out. Listening to the flow of air, making it the sole thing she thinks of in her tiny world.

“You’re a macabre one, aren’t you?”

Her eyes fly open only to see Belphegor peering down at her from where he crouches, arms looped around his knees as if to make himself seem as small as possible. She scrambles up quickly, back pressed against the bed behind her, panic hazing her thoughts.

“What do you want?” She snaps, anger her only defense. His eyes trail over her lazily and she can practically feel where they trace over her skin; the shudder that rolls through her is visible.

“To know you,” he says lazily, and the only thing she can think to do is stare at him, unblinking. “Lucifer wouldn’t tell me anything about you. Selfish.” She’s immensely grateful for Lucifer and whatever his reasons were for remaining mum about her—just as she’s immensely suspicious of whatever Belphegor’s motives are now. Silence stretches between them and she makes no move to fill it. He reaches a hand out to her and she moves on instinct, lunging backwards as she smacks him away, clawing her way up and onto the bed as if it might save her. 

“Don’t—” she chokes out the word as she kicks herself away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you,” he tells her, holding his hands up, palms out to her. The laughter that bubbles from her is harsh and frantic and she finds herself torn between staring at his eyes and his hands. “You’ve been avoiding me. That’s not very nice of you, is it?”

“Can’t imagine  _ why _ I’d do something like that,” she says, clapping her hands over her mouth when her own words hit her. His expression remains the same as she watches him, wondering if she should try to run or if that would only end the same as last time. Cold terror rushes through her and she gathers her legs under herself, preparing to at least try. 

And then a small smile cracks over his face and she feels like she might faint, sure that whatever spurred it means nothing good for her. 

“I should hate you,” he tells her, and she swears she feels her heart stop beating for a moment. “But I don’t. I wonder why that is?”

_ Say something, say something, say something, _ she yells at herself, but her tongue remains stubbornly frozen to the roof of her mouth. 

“Lucifer wouldn’t tell me about  _ you _ , but he did tell me what you  _ did. _ All the trouble you went through,” Belphegor continues, not minding at all that she isn’t responding to his words. She can barely hear him over the howling terror that roars through her as he inches closer. “For me.”

His words hit her like a hammer striking an anvil.

“N—”  _ no. Not for you, _ she wants to tell him, but she can’t make her mouth move properly. The hands still over her mouth tremble.

“I can’t think of the last time that somebody went that far for me. I know that I acted irrationally—that my anger is better taken out on those that deserve it. And I know that you hate me right now, but I can wait.”

He smiles at her encouragingly as she forces herself to breathe; the last thing she wants is to pass out in front of him, not when he seems so very unhinged to her. 

“The line between hate and hate and love can be very, very thin.”

It is those words, ringing ominously in her ears, that finally force her into movement, flight winning out over her freeze response. Eleanor scrambles backwards off the bed, landing hard on her palms but glad to have something between them. She stumbles from the attic, down the stairs.

She’s not conscious of her own movements as she puts her phone up to her ear, can’t hear herself as she speaks into it when someone else answers. Barely remembers changing or stumbling out of the House of Lamentation and into Solomon’s arms. Doesn’t know where he takes her other than that it’s bright and crowded and noisy. When she wakes from her fugue there’s a drink in her hands and she’s sitting at a club table, atop a high stool.

“...What?” She looks around her, blinking into the bright, multicolored lights of the club, looks left and then right to see Solomon at her side. “What happened? Where am I?” Solomon looks at her, clearly amused. 

“You said that you needed to, and I quote, ‘get the fuck out,’ and so here we are,” he gestures the the crush of demons around them. “Out.”

“Did I say that?” Even to her own ears she sounds distant, but it sounds like something she might say. She looks down and traces the rim of her glass with her thumbs, wondering what sits inside but not daring to drink it. “Why didn’t I…”

“Bring one of the brothers?” Solomon asks as he raises his own drink to his lips. “No idea. You mentioned something about wedges and not wanting to bother them.”

And that… That feels familiar to her. She rubs her forehead with her cold fingers, wishing she didn’t feel so sick. Wishing that she was anybody but herself or Lilith’s plaything or the human exchange student. 

“He didn’t even apologize,” she says hollowly, pausing a moment before breaking into laughter. 

“Who?” Solomon asks, always intrigued at the possibility of gaining new knowledge. “For what?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter,” she snaps at him, her chaotic emotions hitting a flashpoint. All she can feel is fury as her hands shake, tearing the little napkin that had been under her drink to shreds. And then her anger breaks and she can feel tears welling in her eyes. “He’s insane. I want to go home.”

Solomon curses in a language she doesn’t know the name of, but is quick to help her down from her seat and ferry her through the crowd. He pauses to tap something into his phone once they’re outside, heavy metal back doors of the club swinging shut behind them. Eleanor sits on the curb, drawing her knees up close to her head.

“I want to go home,” she sobs. Her voice is soft and watery and can barely be heard over the noise spilling from the inside of the club behind them.    
“That’s where I’m taking you. I’m taking you back to the House of—”

“That isn’t my home!” She cuts him off, hand at the heel of her shoe as if she might actually throw it at him. “I don’t—I don’t have—I don’t even know if I  _ have _ a home anymore! I’ve probably been evicted. It’s not like I’ve been able to make rent. And I’ve probably been dropped from all of my classes, so there go my scholarships, and—” She cuts herself off to scrub angrily at the tears burning her eyes, taking deep, heaving breaths. Solomon stares at her in his calculating way and she wants him to be somewhere, anywhere else.  _ You’re not supposed to see me like this, _ she almost tells him, but her teeth chatter too much as she tries to hold back another round of sobs. If nothing else, she’s grateful that he stays away and that he doesn’t try to touch her.

“Being here has ruined my life,” she tells him eventually, and for the first time in what feels like ages she feels like she’s being honest. “I just want to… I want to... “ but she doesn’t know how to finish her sentence; everything that springs to mind sounds too trite to her.  _ I want to be safe. I want to be happy. I want to have a place. _

“Anyway.” She stands shakily, ignoring the hand Solomon offers her in favor of leaning on the wall beside her, not caring that the rough bricks scrape against her skin. “Don’t tell anyone about this. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be gone in a few months anyway.” She doesn’t have to explain who she means by anyone.

He watches her transform, forcing a smile onto her face, her shoulders to sit straight instead of slumped as she holds her arm out to him. Solomon looks down at her and sees the faint traces of magic her sigils have left on her skin, feels the burning of something celestial at the very edges of her aura. 

“Sorry for running your night. I’ll make it up to you somehow, okay?”

“I’m sure you will,” he tells her with a smile.


	60. Albatross

Her incessant sniffling grows tiresome soon enough, and Solomon reaches out to press a hand over her eyes, feeling her eyelashes flutter against his palm as unconsciousness claims her. Solomon isn’t cruel enough to let his pactmate slump to the cold Devildom ground, just as he isn’t cruel enough to leave her vulnerable and alone. Even though she’s already expressed displeasure at the idea of returning to the House of Lamentation, Solomon has no desire to take her anywhere else and risk incurring the wrath of the resident demons; after all, Asmodeus is the only one he has a pact with. He hefts her across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry after sending Asmodeus another quick message.

The demon waits at the House’s back entrance, his arms crossed, frown tugging at his lips as both of his humans approach. 

“Oh dear,” Asmodeus sighs, holding out his arms to collect the sleeping human. “What  _ ever _ did you do to her?” There’s a slight challenge, a warning to his voice that Solomon brushes off.

“Don’t be jealous. All she had was water,” Solomon chides. And then because he cannot resist flirting with danger and teasing the demon in front of him, he smiles before he continues speaking. “And don’t forget: it’s your magic that she has a resistance to. Not mine.” The sorcerer lets his words stew in the demon’s mind before he shrugs the human off his shoulders and into Asmodeus’s arms. “I simply made her sleep. It seemed like she needed it.”

Asmodeus hums in contemplation as he settles her more comfortably in his arms, looking down at the dark circles under her eyes, her cracked, dry lips. 

“You might want to take better care of her, though,” Solomon says as he watches expressions flit over Asmodeus’s face. “Don’t forget; not all humans are as understanding as I am of this household’s more… demonic quirks.”

“Oh?” There’s something of a tone of surprise to the way Asmodeus hums, refocusing his attention back to Solomon.

“She talked about wanting to go back to the human world,” Solomon says the words casually, still watching Asmodeus carefully. Asmodeus’s eyes harden as he looks at the sorcerer, gripping the human woman’s shoulder tighter to him as his words hit home.

“And what do I owe for this information?”

“I just wanted to let you know; I know she’s important to you. But since you offered an  _ exchange  _ so freely, I’ll think about it.” Asmodeus grits his teeth together, wishing Solomon were just slightly less conniving; but then again, that’s one of his charms, at least to the demon. “She’ll wake as soon as she’s rested, but there’s no telling when that might be.”

Solomon nods once at Asmodeus, spares Eleanor a passing glance, and then turns on his heel to head back to Purgatory Hall. The magic that he caught hints of during the retreat is more evident now, even if just barely. He catches hints of it even as she sleeps, whispers of whatever strange power she has lurking under her skin. It doesn’t surprise Asmodeus as much as Solomon expected it to, which speaks volumes to the sorcerer. 

Asmodeus watches one of the humans who holds his pact leave while he holds the other in his arms, pouting. It’s simple enough to turn back into the house and climb the stairs to his room. When he went looking for her earlier, he noticed that her bedroom looked like some sort of whirlwind tore through it; it wouldn’t do to have her wake up in such a chaotic environment. 

She looks good in his bed, he decides as he slides her shoes off and tosses them to his floor. It’s a shame that she’s so deeply asleep; he wonders when Solomon’s spell will wear off. The reminder that  _ his _ magic works so well on her but his own charms do not stings. He pulls his blankets up over her and mourns, for a moment, that his bedding was designed more for appearance than it was for the warmth she needs at the moment. His fingers ghost along the line of her jaw as he settles himself down beside her.

“You are a strange creature,” he tells her, but she remains as impassive as ever. The closest thing he gets to a response is her heavy breathing and the way her brows furrow, something in her dream displeasing her. Asmodeus reaches out and traces over the lines on her face to smooth them away. “You’ll get wrinkles.”

* * *

When she wakes, her lungs feel tight, and a cold jolt of fear rolls through her as she struggles to sit up, her movement hampered. Her hands fly to her throat and she finds a small measure of relief when she finds nothing there beyond empty air and her own neck. Breath comes easier as she sits up, blankets falling from her shoulders, Asmodeus’s arm flopping onto her lap in a way she’s sure he would find completely undignified. 

The panic recedes as she takes in her surroundings and recognizes them as Asmodeus’s room, that it’s Asmodeus next to her in his bed, that she’s not in the attic with someone sitting on her chest.

“Oh, you’re up,” he says as he snuggles closer to her, pressing his face to her hip. “It took you long enough; I was  _ very _ bored.”

“What?” She’s still trying to piece together what she last remembers before waking up, a strange sort of weight making her feel sluggish and slow. “Why—”

“—Were you out partying with Solomon, all alone? I don’t know. I’d love for you to tell me,” the demon says, pouting as he pulls himself up to look her in the eyes. She looks away from him and stares down at her hands instead, trying to piece together what she knows. 

“I just wanted to get out,” Eleanor tells him, still looking down at her hands. 

“Of course,” Asmodeus says as he sits next to her, rubbing comforting circles into her back. “How about you tell me about it? Like everything else, I’m  _ very _ good at listening.” He doesn’t know why that makes her laugh a little as she leans into him, or why that laughter sounds so sad when she presses her face into his shoulder. 

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, no, I’m not accepting that,” he tells her as he clicks his tongue in disapproval. Asmodeus tilts her face up to himself so that he can look into her eyes, Solomon’s reminder regarding his magic ringing through his head. “I know when people are faking it. And you, kitten, are faking it. Don’t be a martyr; they’re  _ terribly _ boring.”

“Yeah?” She asks, declining to point out that there are several human world religions she can think of off the top of her dead dedicated to martyrs.  _ But I suppose that line of thinking tracks when it’s a demon saying it… _ “I’ve been trying to pretend that nothing’s happened,” she confesses. 

“I know that,” Asmodeus croons into her ear, even though the possibility of it has only just recently been brought to his attention. “But  _ why _ have  _ you _ been doing that?”

Her lips part as she considers the answer to his question, concentrating on tracking all of her half-formed thoughts down to make them comply with order. 

“You’ve all been brothers for longer than…” she pauses, trying to think of a frame of reference. “Longer than most countries have existed in my world. Longer than I can even conceive of, really, so I don’t want to be the one to break that up. And besides…” Eleanor pauses and then shakes her head.

“Besides?” Asmodeus prompts, pulling her into his lap. He’s satisfied when she doesn’t try to pull away or shift herself out of his arms. 

“I think that… I mean, for a joke I stopped and got a tarot reading, and it was… kind of on the nose. But if the cards were right, then that means there’s a fate, right? Predeterminism? And if things like that have already been decided, then that means there’s someone doing the deciding, and so maybe…” She pauses and glances away from him, which is more of a struggle than she thought it would be. “I could have deserved it, right? Earned it. After all, I wasn’t  _ entirely _ truthful with everyone, and I got involved with things that weren’t my business, so...”

Asmodeus covers her mouth with his hands as soon as she pauses, halting any further words. 

“I told you to quit with the martyring,” he scolds her, taking care to not sound as irritated as her words have actually made him feel. “I think you’ve forgotten that you live in a household filled with beings who stood directly opposed to what something else has determined for them. And as for my brothers, well, I didn't know you were such a narcissist! There’s very little that could come between us all—besides, there’s no way they’d let themselves be distanced from a brother like  _ me. _ ”

_ Glass houses, _ she wants to tell him, but he still has his hand over the lower half of her face. It makes her think about what he’s said, and she hates that there’s some truth to it; they wouldn’t tear apart their family for her—not that she’d been expecting or wanting something as drastic as that. But what she hates the most is that she hadn’t allowed herself to think of it. 

“I just wanted to… do something for you all,” she says, her voice soft and muffled under his hand.  _ But I’m tired of that, _ she thinks, her shoulder sagging with the weight of the thought. Expecting something in return for good deeds is not something that she thinks highly of, and had never been her intention.  _ But don’t I keep telling myself to be a little more selfish? And it’s not… a bad thing to want good things, is it? _ She knows that she can’t ask any of the demons that question because their answer will be an immediate and unshakeable yes. 

“If you want to do something for me, then you could have a spa day with me. Right now.” 

She laughs and lets him subject her to more creams and moisturizers and oils than she would even know what to do with. He touches up his nails while she lounges in one of his robes, feet soaking in his bathtub. Somehow, the fact that his bathroom looks more like a decadent Parthenon doesn’t surprise her. She’s not sure how the House of Lamentation holds all of the unique architecture the brothers bring to it.

“I can’t believe you have a swimming pool for a bath, she says, flicking some of the scented water at him. She can’t place the aroma, but it’s vaguely floral. He pouts at her when a few droplets of water land in his hair, then looks appreciatively at her bare legs. 

“We could try it out together right now, if you want,” he suggests, ignoring the drying varnish on his nails. Eleanor tilts her head to the side, considering his words, and  _ almost _ shrugs his robe off. And then she remembers the scar tissue seared into her skin just under where her ribs meet, the mottled remnants of her bruising.

“Some other time,” she tells him with a wide, forced smile. “Actually, I think I’m kind of hungry. I’m going to go and get something to eat, okay?” He pouts, again, and she’s sure that she’ll never get used to the image of a demon pouting. The robe he loaned her is warmer than the clothes she’d been wearing, so she shrugs back into it before she steps out of his room and closes his door behind her.

_ Okay, _ she thinks to herself.  _ I’m out of my room and alone _ — _ not the best place to be. Just get back there quick and _ —

“Eleanor!”

She flinches when she hears the voice behind her, breaking into a quick walk down the hallway away from the speaker; she doesn’t want to give Belphegor the satisfaction of knowing that he still inspires terror on her. The fact that he’s currently accompanied by Satan is cold comfort. 

“Oh, leave her alone,” Satan sighs as he clasps a hand on Belphegor’s tense shoulder. “She’s probably not in the mood to talk; after all, she’s just come from Asmo’s room.” With her back turned, she doesn’t see the way both of the other demons watch her.

“By the way, Eleanor, Lucifer has been looking for you.”

Her footsteps pause. Eleanor turns to nod at Satan, grateful for the out he’s given her, that she can pretend that she isn’t running away. All the while, she’s careful to pointedly ignore Belphegor’s existence, focusing only on Satan. 

“Thanks. See you later.”

It’s easy enough to change her route quickly and stop by Lucifer’s room, if only for her to play along with the charade Satan set up. She’s surprised when he actually calls her in. 

“Did you actually ask to see me?” She asks, a single eyebrow raised in curiosity. “I thought Satan was making that up.”

“Not at all,” Lucifer says as he straightens himself at his desk. “I heard that you went adventuring with Solomon last night. Alone. In the Devildom.” Eleanor resists the urge to roll her eyes and ignores that he gestures for her to sit. He looks irritated, and she’s wary of limiting any of her escape routes around him. 

“I wasn’t alone. You just said it yourself: I was with Solomon.” She knows it’s the wrong thing to say even as the words leave her mouth; she knows better than to provoke someone when they’re already clearly angry. The severe line of his mouth tells her that his anger is only mounting.

“It is  _ dangerous _ for humans out in the Devildom,” he says, plainly referring only to her. Eleanor considers his words. Remembers Belphegor in the hallway, how he cornered her in the attic. The now-familiar burst of hot anger that washes through her is sudden and powerful. She clenches her jaw.

“Because it’s so safe here in this house?” 

Lucifer’s eyes widen slightly, and if she hadn’t been keeping her gaze locked on his face, she might have missed it. But her familiar scowl is back in place before she can really register his surprise.

“Are you referring to what I think you’re referring to?”

“I…” She doesn’t actually want to discuss it, despite the fact that she brought it up by herself. She runs a hand through her hair, tugging at it nervously. 

“ _ If you are, _ then I would let you know that anything I did or did  _ not _ do was to spare your human feelings. I’m sure that you’d take anything that, I assure you, did  _ not _ happen to be your fault, somehow, and contrive to blame yourself for someone  _ else’s _ actions.”

He has a point, she realizes with a sinking feeling. She doesn’t like seeing Belphegor roaming the same hallways she does, but she doesn’t think she’d like to see him—or anyone, for that matter—beaten and bloodied.  _ Not even if they deserved it, _ she thinks, thoroughly believing that Belphegor had earned a treatment similar to what he’d subjected her to. She knows—or at least thinks she knows—that Lucifer isn’t as evil as his reputation from her world suggests. But it’s still difficult for her to reconcile the sour look on his face with his roundabout way of caring for her, and the way her face heats is embarrassing.

“Thanks,” she says, half hoping he doesn’t actually hear her. “Um, if there’s nothing else, I have a few other things to take care of. Elsewhere,” she clarifies as if it hadn’t been completely obvious already. 

While his words made her feel oddly better, in some small way, about the way her imagination ran wild when she saw Belphegor up and about, it doesn’t solve her primary problem. The solution, she decides, is to make sure that she spends as little time in the House of Lamentation as possible; her courses have mostly been decided for her, based on what an exchange student most desperately needs to know, but there are still elective offerings and clubs to investigate. She just wants to ensure that they’re nothing Belphegor would be interested in.

And then inspiration strikes as she’s putting the mess of her room back together. 

A quick message to Barbatos and Diavolo sets her half-thought plans into motion, and she smiles down at her course catalog, where she’s underlined the Human Studies course in bright ink. She hasn’t been allowed to take the course herself, for obvious reasons, but as she pitched to the prince and his butler, that doesn’t mean that she can’t help  _ other _ students.

_ And besides, _ she thinks,  _ how better to step into my new role as ambassador? _ As far as she’s concerned, it’s a perfect solution; tutoring and teaching assistant duties will keep her busy and give her an opportunity to stay far, far away from Belphegor. She won’t even have to pretend to ignore him because she’s sure there’s no way he’ll subject himself to a class revolving around something he hates so much.

Her hope is small, but she holds it with both hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so delayed because I had to make a surprise trip to the hospital for heat exhaustion! Mostly better now. Stay safe, friends.


	61. Fighting Inertia

There is one day left in the break allotted to them between semesters, and Eleanor plans on using it as well as she can. The same frenetic energy that had her pacing around her room for days now wakes her up early enough to put her life back in order—what she can of it, anyway. Lucifer’s scolding hadn’t been the only one she’d received once she wandered out of Asmodeus’s room; it took quite some convincing to get Beelzebub and Leviathan both to believe her when she said she wasn’t planning on running away. But it’s Mammon that concerns her. He took one look at her the day before, made a noise of disapproval, and has been avoiding her since then. She hasn’t seen him in hours, which she thinks is wildly out of character. With everyone’s attention elsewhere, it’s almost like she’s living alone again.

_ But I don’t think I’d mind moving out into an apartment on my own, or something, _ she muses idly before she realizes the thought that just crossed her mind. She scowls and picks up her D.D.D. from where she tossed it onto her bed earlier.  _ No. I was told that while I was here, this is my home, too. I’m not being chased out. _

She’s done nothing but run and avoid things, find new troubles to launch herself into, new messes to distract herself with. She’s tired of it. And she’s done. 

“Nope,” she announces to one of the tiny sprites that hide in the leaves above her head. In the shadows, she can’t tell the shape or color of the tiny protruding horns it has. “I’m tired of running. And besides, if he does anything to me again, I’m pretty sure Diavolo will just kill him. That’s something like assurance, right?”

It isn’t, not really, and the thought of someone dying is still bitter to her. But the sprite squeaks out something she thinks is a laugh and it makes her feel just a little bit better. It floats down to her hand where it sits, almost insubstantial, at her fingertips. 

“Anyway, he’s… I’m pretty sure he’s crazy,” she whispers to the sprite, Belphegor’s words to her in the attic echoing through her head. Avoiding all thoughts of Belphegor and his strange warnings— _ promises? _ She wonders—has gotten her nowhere. 

In her other hand, her D.D.D. pings with the arrival of a new message. She taps the screen to life and skims her course list, making a mental map of where she’ll be going tomorrow and what she’ll need to take with her. It’s shorter than she’s expecting, and she chews on her bottom lip, wondering if that’s supposed to mean something. 

And then she reaches the very last class at the bottom of the list, scheduled for one day a week. Her lips curl into a sneer and she storms out of her room, sprite floating along beside her as she heads for Lucifer’s office.

“ _ Etiquette classes? _ ” She asks, thrusting the screen of her D.D.D. dangerously close to Lucifer’s face, aware that barging into his office without announcing herself is only adding fuel to whatever started this particular fire. Her fury propels her words before she can even think through them properly. “Seriously? Etiquette classes? I know I might not be part of your demon noblesse, but I don’t think I’m  _ that _ boorish! What—did I offend Diavolo after  _ coming back from the dead? _ Because is that’s the case, it’s bull, and I think I deserve a little credit.”

“Lord Diavolo,” Lucifer corrects her automatically, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he tries to stare at the screen she shakes at him. 

“ _ Are you serious? _ ” She seethes, snatching back her phone before he can claim both it and her hand. “ _ That’s _ what you’re worried about? I’m not some… Victorian schoolgirl! I’m not taking those stupid classes.” Eleanor crosses her arms in front of her and does her own best approximation of one of Lucifer’s scowls. It does nothing at all to perturb him, which she considers a shame. Above them, the lights flicker. Lucifer spares them a passing glance before focusing his attention back on Eleanor.

“I’m aware of that,” he tells her, eyeing her up as if trying to pry a secret from her skin. “Have Barbatos or  _ Lord _ Diavolo spoken to you recently?” There’s wariness to his voice that immediately sets her on guard.

“No. Well, not about anything other than the study group I offered to head up, but that’s it. Why? Is there something—”

Lucifer waves his hand at her, interrupting her questions. It only makes her frown deeper at him.

“Then I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m sure we all agreed that it would be a terrible idea,” Lucifer muses, his thoughts turned inward again, wondering if he’s remembering that meeting correctly. He’s certain they all decided it would not be best to further alter Eleanor’s life in any way.

“You all agreed  _ what _ would be a terrible idea?” Her patience is waning, and she’s half considering marching back to the castle if Lucifer doesn’t give her some sort of answer. Whether he knows it or not, he’s played a little of his hand; now, at least, she knows that the prince and his faithful butler are likely involved in this latest humiliation. Somehow. She intends to find out. 

“Nothing.” He waves her off again, and she half-shrieks in indignation. Lucifer deigns to look at her then, casting her a baleful glare for her outburst. Eleanor returns it right back.

“Ugh, this is so frustrating.” She slides her phone back into her pocket and runs her hands through her hair to release some of her agitation. “I take it you’re definitely not going to tell me what this ‘nothing’ is?” Her only answer is a stiff nod.  _ But at least he looks… vaguely concerned, _ she thinks, the thought a mild balm to her bruised ego. Thoughts flit behind his eyes, too fast for her to catch the direction they’re going in. Seeing his face in such a serious expression makes her wonder why she made such a big deal out of her schedule change to begin with.

“I will look into it and see if I can get to the bottom of these classes,” he promises her. “But if it truly is what Lord Diavolo wishes, you may just be stuck with them. Remember what you swore.”

And then she remembers why she was so angry to begin with; the moment she decides to take her life back, something comes along to interrupt her plans.  _ As always, _ she thinks with a grim frown. Her agreement with Diavolo is just another thorn in her side, one of many. 

“Fine,” Eleanor bites out, not at all satisfied with his answer but knowing that she has to be all the same. 

It’s easy enough to leave his office behind and stalk through the hallways of the House of Lamentation, looking for something to do. Quite another to keep her mind on other topics, she discovers. 

“Eleanor!”

Someone slides their hands over her eyes and her first instinct is to ram her elbows back into their stomach; she hesitates just long enough to realize that she knows these hands. After all, she’s seen them wrapped around a game controller enough 

“You know who this is, right? I’ll give you a hint: it’s your true friend!”

Eleanor sighs but smiles, pulling his hands away from her eyes. 

“I know it’s you, Levi,” she tells him as she turns to face him. He beams down at her. “Can I help you with something?”

“Maybe it’s a little presumptuous of me to say this, but the fact that you actually knew it was me can only mean that you and I are the  _ best _ of friends! Recognizing each other by voice alone!”

“Right!” She agrees easily, wondering what, exactly, has spurred him into such excitement today. A quick mental rundown of her calendar tells her that none of his shows have a new premier, and he hasn’t mentioned any new events in any of his games. But she follows after him when he motions for her to, peering around in the dim light of his room as he snaps his door shut behind them. 

“You don’t think anyone saw you come in here do they?” Some of the excitement has been replaced by clear worry, and when she turns to look at him his hands are fidgeting as if he’s fighting off the urge to wring them. 

“I think we’re fine, Levi,” she tells him, if only to appease his worry. She hadn’t seen anyone else in the hallway, and even the sprite that had been following her is nowhere to be seen. If he were anyone else, she might try and lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he’s so touch-avoidant that she’s afraid of scaring him off one day.

“Really” You really and truly, seriously, honestly mean that we’re safe? Because it would  _ not _ be good if people realized you came in here…” 

“Is this an emergency?” His worry is starting to impact her, making her feel almost as ill at ease as he does. But he nods seriously at her words as if she’s thrown him a lifeline.

“Exactly! It’s an emergency, and I really, really need your help because you’re good at talking to people and fixing things, and…” Leviathan pauses and blushes a little, as if he’s said something that he hadn’t meant to. Eleanor looks at him curiously.  _ Good at talking to people? Does he have someone he’s interested in? A flesh-and-blood person? _ Her mind takes a dozen routes at once and before he’s able to continue his explanation, she’s already picked out a date outfit for him and has half-formed plans of where he could take his beau.

“The thing is,” Leviathan says, snapping her out of her daydreams. “Belphie told me that he wants to play games with me.” The mention of his brother’s name is like ice water to Eleanor’s pleasant thoughts, reminding her that nothing is ever easy in the House of Lamentation. 

“So?” She asks, her voice cool and harsher than she means it to be. When Leviathan flinches, she feels the beginnings of guilt. 

“What do you mean ‘so’? This is serious! In a couple more minutes, he’s going to show up  _ here! _ What do I do once I’m alone with him? What do we talk about? Even at the best of times, Belphie has always been difficult to approach. I’m not sure I can carry on a proper conversation with him,” Leviathan admits.  _ Difficult to approach is one way to put it, _ Eleanor privately agrees, her thoughts less charitable than perhaps Leviathan would like. 

“Just be yourself,” she tells him, already tired of the track their conversation has taken. “Just act natural.”

“Natural!” Leviathan protests. “By nature, I’m not someone who can talk to people! Also…” He looks at her oddly through the sweep of his purple hair, and Eleanor decides she does not like  _ this _ expression on him at all. It’s coolly calculating, as if he’s trying to decipher something about her. “I’m not the only one who’d suffer if things ended up being awkward. Belphie would probably hate every minute of it too, you know? So it wouldn't be good for either of us, now would it?”

It feels, ridiculously, like a challenge, and Eleanor glowers at Leviathan for his words.

“Which is why I was wondering if, um… If you could go and tell him no for me? Tell him that it’s a bad time for me and that I can’t do any gaming today—that I’m busy!  _ Please _ , Eleanor!” He holds his hands up to her, folded together in supplication as she stares at him incredulously. “He’ll take it just fine if it comes from you,” Leviathan adds, as if that is even remotely being close to her primary concern. 

“Not interested,” she tells him, taking a step back. “And don’t take this the wrong way, since he’s your brother and everything, but what makes you think I care if he suffers or not?”

Leviathan stares at her as if she’s just announced she’ll be eloping with Diavolo’s father. His stunned expression rocks her.  _ What the hell has Belphegor been telling everyone? _ She wonders, pondering the idea of begging some holy water off of Simeon just to splash in the contrary demon’s face. She hopes it would hurt. 

“B-but…” Leviathan stutters. Pauses. Looks at her hard again, as if checking for a lie. When he’s satisfied that she’s not hiding anything from him, he straightens his shoulders again, deciding to change the course of his argument. “I thought we were the best of friends! Was I wrong? I—I mean, I’d do it myself, but, um, I have a  _ super _ important package coming from Akuzon for me today. And, um, I can’t miss it.” She knows, at least, how to translate these words from Leviathan.  _ I’m scared, _ he means. “You’re the only person in the whole world I can count on, you know?”

She feels her resolve crumble and a new determination set in.  _ I do have to find out what lies he’s been spreading, _ she considers, looking Leviathan up and down. 

“I’ll go,” she holds a finger up before he can celebrate prematurely. “ _ If _ you tell me  _ exactly _ what Belphegor told you. Because whatever it is, I’m certain it’s not the truth.” Leviathan fidgets in front of her and tries very clearly not to look her in the eye. Every moment he avoids answering her question is another moment her anger is allowed to fester.

“He said that, uh, you two had a special connection,” he mumbles, tripping over his words as Eleanor watches the tips of his ears go pink. “And that you visited him in the attic and did a lot of… normie s-stuff.”

She’s almost too angry to breathe. 

“Well, I can  _ assure you _ that nothing happened. He was behind bars the whole time, and it’s tough to have a conversation when the other person is either sleeping or lying through their teeth.” She chooses her words carefully, spitting as much venom into them as possible. Leviathan’s blush subsides gradually. “Do you have a pen, by any chance? There’s something I have to do quick before I go and beat some sense into your brother.”

Leviathan brushes off her threats of violence, selectively hearing only that she’ll go and deliver his message for him. From his desk he pulls a pen, dropping it into her waiting hand. 

“Thank you! You really are the best friend anyone could ever ask for—what are you doing?” He halts his thanks to watch her roll her sleeves up and drag the pen across her skin, leaving thin black lines behind. He’s familiar with the sigils and magic circles for protection, for reflecting harm, but he’s not sure he’s ever seen her wearing them before.

“Battle armor,” she tells him distractedly as she doodles on her wrist. Leviathan nods, appreciating the reference to Henry, but doesn’t move his eyes from the lines she leaves behind with his pen.

“Oh, that one isn’t right,” he tells her, reaching over to grab the pen from her hands. He’s quick to attempt to cover his tracks when he realizes how close he’s put himself to her, the red flush to his face betraying his thoughts. “N-not that a  _ normie _ would know the difference.”

“So then show me,” she tells him, teaching challenge dancing at the end of her words as she holds her forearms out to him, wrists turned up. Leviathan hesitates before reaching out to grab her wrist to bring it closer to himself; Eleanor politely ignores the way his fingers shake. He finishes a few minutes later, and Eleanor brings the sigils up closer to herself, appreciating the crisp, steady lines that he’s put down. “I’ll go talk to your brother for you. Be right back.”

And then, perhaps to punish him for calling her a normie or asking her to talk to Bephegor, or perhaps just because she can, she leans forward and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. Leviathan stutters out a defense, in which she’s certain he’s called her a normie again, but his voice is cut off from her when she closes his door. 

She chews at her thumb nail as she makes her way to the room Beelzebub and Belphegor share, ruining the careful way Asmodeus buffed it to a shining edge. After deliberating for far too long and double- and triple-checking the marks on her arms, she raises her fist and knocks at the door. 

“Come in,” she can hear him say, his voice muffled through the door. She swings it open but does not enter, preferring to maintain distance between herself and the demon sprawled out on his bed. “... Oh, it’s you. Do you need something? I was headed over to Levi’s room.”

_ No, you weren’t, _ she almost says. Instead, she narrows her eyes at him and leans her shoulder against the door frame, blocking his exit—not that he’s done much more than sit up, still cradling his pillow in his arms. She forces herself to meet his eyes, keenly aware of the magic stirring to life along her arms.

“I heard you were lying about some sort of  _ special connection, _ ” she tells him, curling her fingers as she says the words to mock him. For all her bravado, she still doesn’t step closer, preferring to keep her aloof posture and escape route intact. 

“It isn’t a lie,” he tells her as he stretches, languid movements making his voice come out half as a sigh. “Don’t you agree? After all, we’ve shared a lot, haven't we?” His words send a rush of fury through her and she tenses, considering her next words carefully.

“I don’t know,” she feigns a careless shrug, pretending to study her nails while watching for any sudden movements from the demon. “I think I probably  _ shared _ much more with Asmo, you know?”  _ Let him think whatever he wants, _ she decides, enjoying the way the corners of his mouth tighten—almost, but not quite a frown. It feels like a small victory to her, even more when she considers the fact that Asmodeus will deny nothing, if asked. 

“Whatever. If there’s something else you have to say, make it quick.” He bites out his words but still remains unmoving, and Eleanor smiles sharply at him as she announces that Leviathan is busy, waiting on a package. 

“Considering it’s Levi, he’s probably worried that it’ll be awkward being alone with me, right? I mean, he was acting really suspicious when I sent by his room and asked him to play games with me; I guess he couldn’t bring himself to turn me down right there on the spot,” Belphegor rakes his eyes up and down Eleanor’s frame in a way that makes her feel absurdly exposed. “Or in person. I shouldn’t be surprised; it’s very like him. Fine.” Something about Belphegor’s tone makes Eleanor jump to Leviathan’s defense. 

“Can you blame him?” Her question hangs heavy in the air as he studies her harder, looking for a chink in her armor. Belphegor swings his legs over the side of his bed to prepare to stand, and Eleanor balls her hands into fists to tight her nails dig into her palms. But she won’t back away, not yet—not until there’s no other choice.

“I said it’s fine. You don’t need to try to… intervene. I’m not going to throw a tantrum and try to destroy the human world this time,” he tells her with a sardonic smile, holding out his pinky finger as if waiting for her to take it. “Promise.”

“Whatever. I’m leaving.” If nothing else, she’s satisfied that his words give her an appropriate time to leave, one that doesn’t make her feel like she’s turned her tail to run away. Except her movement is impeded by Leviathan, who stands nervously behind her. 

“Oh. Levi,” Belphegor says while Eleanor is distracted by his brother, taking the opportunity to stand and walk closer without her flinching. It’s annoying, he thinks, how every little move he makes has her twitching like a frightened rabbit. Annoying because even if she tries to cover it up with sharp words and acidic barbs, he can still see it there, lingering. “If it’s about your message, Eleanor just told me.”

Belphegor’s voice is  _ far too close _ to her ear, Eleanor realizes as soon as he continues speaking. It makes her jump, which she tries to disguise as a quick movement towards Leviathan. 

“About that… I wasn’t lying about the package from Akuzon, but it just arrived, so…” Leviathan pauses and gestures to the box in his hands, which holds a game console and a few titles. “I brought some games over. What do you say we play together here in your room, Belphie?” Leviathan looks between his brother and the human, shooting her a silent plea to remain. Eleanor grits her teeth and remains silent. 

“Okay. Yeah. Sounds good,” Belphegor says, and it’s his movement to reach for the box, putting his arm right by Eleanor’s side that has her leaping into motion.

“Okay! Well, now that’s settled, I’ll just be going,” she announces, false cheer layered heavily over her words. To her horror, both demons reach out to grab at her sweater; it’s a small consolation that Belphegor is repelled, jerking his hand back from her as if shocked.

“Oh no, you don’t,” they both say in unison. Eleanor leans closer to Leviathan, who still has a grip on her sleeve. 

“Please, Levi,” she whispers softly into his ear as Belphegor turns to get up the rig. Leviathan looks at her and then at his brother, indecision written across his face. 

“One game?” He begs. “Please? You won’t even have to sit next to him.”

She doesn't know why she lets herself get talked into taking a seat at the foot of Beelzebub’s bed—the farthest she can get away from Belphegor, who didn’t want to move after setting up the device—but she does. And she plays the game as if on autopilot, her reaction time slowed as she dedicates most of her energy to making sure that Belphegor doesn’t make any sudden movements. 

Leviathan and Belphegor compete in earnest against each other while she just tries to keep her little computerized racing car on the winding path. Most of the projectiles they throw at each other in-game end up hitting either her or their computerized opponents, which sparks good-natured arguments between the two demons. She nods to Leviathan whenever he gives her an apology for hitting her with a banana peel or turtle shell or some other debuff, and barely hears Belphegor when he does the same. 

It’s hard for her to believe that he’d apologize over that, but not murder, and the resentment that bubbles under her skin is no longer unfamiliar.

Leviathan, to nobody’s surprise, comes in first; it’s also no surprise to Eleanor that he’s something of a sore winner, crowing about his accomplishment while offering halfhearted praise for her taking fifth place. Belphegor he openly laughs at for coming in dead last, until Leviathan looks over and notices that his brother has fallen asleep sprawled out on the floor. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Leviathan sighs, poking at his brother with his controller. “He’s the one who said he wanted to play this game.”

“I’m sure he did,” Eleanor tells him woodenly. “I’m sure he wanted to spend time with you, he just…” She forces herself to shrug and gesture at his prone form. Leviathan turns to study her as she hands her controller back to him. She’ll remind him that she only agreed to one game if she has to.

“Well, I guess this is just how he is, you know? He’s always been this way.” Leviathan looks back to his brother and rests his hand on his palm, pouting. She reaches out almost touches his cheek, but pulls back at the last moment, thinking that she’s probably harassed him enough for one day. He still doesn’t look  _ completely _ at ease whenever she touches him, sitting ramrod straight and still as if he’s afraid to breathe in. 

“See you later, Levi,” she tells him instead. “And if you guys end up playing another game, kick his ass for me, will you?”

She doesn’t have to tell him twice. 


	62. Chapter 62

The morning of the first day of classes is almost… normal. Eleanor would prefer not to take the time to reflect upon how sharing a table with demons has somehow become  _ normal _ , or that she’s missed it in the time she’s been avoiding them all. Without Belphegor present, it’s much easier to slip back into her old routines, the ones that keep her grounded and calm. 

Leviathan stumbles down to the breakfast table last, yawning as he sits. Mammon comments on the lateness of his arrival, rubbing in the fact that  _ he’s _ managed to be on time. 

“You  _ are _ late, Levi. You were up all night playing games again, weren’t you?” Asmodeus scolds. “You know, an inconsistent sleep schedule will ruin your skin.”

“I was up playing games too,” Eleanor says, hoping to keep a squabble from starting so early in the morning. Asmodeus only sighs, while Leviathan shoots her an angerless glare.

“Yeah, I  _ know. _ That sniper hounding me last night in DDO was  _ you _ , wasn’t it?” Rather than confirming or denying his accusation, Eleanor only throws him a peace sign over the stack of pancakes sitting in the center of the table. 

“Complaining won’t solve anything, Levi. You’ll end up having to repeat your required classes if you’re late too often. Hurry up and eat.” Satan nods to Leviathan’s empty plate. 

“There isn’t that much food at this point,” Mammon points out, gesturing to what had once been the stack of pancakes in the center of the table. Leviathan looks hard at where the food should be, and then glares at Beelzebub.

“Beel! Give me back my breakfast!” Leviathan reaches out for his brother’s plate, only to have it starches away at the last moment. 

“Sorry, already ate it,” Beelzebub informs him between gulps as Eleanor divides her food in half. “And throwing it up would just be wasteful.”

“Spit it out!” Leviathan demands, brandishing a fork at his brother as if it’s a trident. Mammon shudders at the imagery.    
“Don’t you  _ dare, _ Beel!” Mammon warns. Eleanor sighs and simply picks up Leviathan’s plate, giving him what she hasn’t touched yet. 

“You’re all hopeless,” she informs them as she puts Leviathan’s plate back down in front of him. “Levi, take this.” A similar squabble happens almost every morning, especially when they’re all in good spirits; the bizarre normalcy of it all makes her smile, belying the nature of her earlier complaint. 

“Are you some sort of a—nevermind,” Leviathan tries to cover up his words with a hasty fake cough, but it’s too late; everyone seated around him knows he almost finished his sentence with the word angel. Eleanor politely ignores the slip of his tongue and offers him a wan smile instead. 

“Forget it, Eleanor. Ignore them. Their stupidity is contagious, and you don’t want what they’ve got.” The brunt manner in which Satan makes his proclamation is enough to make her smile again for real. Asmodeus takes the break in conversation to lean down behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder as he offers her a parfait. She’s used to his constant touching, the ways he finds to drape himself over her or give her inconspicuous hugs. It’s only increased since their impromptu spa day. 

“You can have this mango-flavored Little Devil’s Parfait if you want. What do you say? It’s  _ really _ good,” he tells her, right in her ear. Weeks ago, she would have taken it gladly. But now, the fruity scent wafting from the cup only turns her stomach. 

“I’m fine, really,” she insists, distracting Asmodeus with a quick peck on his cheek. He pulls away from her with a small frown on his face—not one deep enough to cause any lines to form. 

And, as if the direction her thoughts have taken has summoned him directly, Belphegor appears. Shoulders slumped, caught in the middle of a yawn, he peers into the dining room. Eleanor looks down at her plate before they can make eye contact.

“I’m tired,” he announces, as if conscious of the tense hush that’s fallen over the room. Leviathan glances nervously at his brother. Beelzebub stares down at his plate. Satan sits up straighter, watching the tension in the room as if he’s calculating how much more everyone can take. Mammon leans closer to Eleanor, and Asmodeus’s casual hug turns into a tight grip; in a way, she’s grateful for the reminder that he’s there. Even if he’s wrinkling her uniform. 

“...Belphie…” Beelzebub starts, but clearly doesn’t know what to say after. “You’re not going to have time to eat breakfast,” he finishes lamely. 

“Have a seat here,” Satan couches his order behind a smile, pointing to the seat furthest away from the lone human at their table. Stillness falls over everyone until Eleanor wipes at her mouth delicately with her napkin and moves to stand.

“I’m going to class,” she announces, glancing at all of the brothers present—save for Belphegor—in turn. “See you later?” She can feel harsh purple eyes on her as she stands, smoothing her skirt down against her legs, but she pays them no heed. 

“I’ll go with you,” Satan says, pushing his chair in behind him. Asmodeus loops an arm around her shoulders, indicating that he’ll be accompanying her as well. 

“I guess… I’ll head off too,” Mammon agrees, not wanting to be outdone by either of his brothers. He shoots Belphegor an almost pleading look, but the plea behind it is lost on the demon it’s directed at. 

“I’ll grab something at the cafeteria at school,” Leviathan decides, leaving Belphegor and Beelzebub both seated at the table. Eleanor leaves them both behind, but not without offering Beelzebub a shy wave goodbye.

Lucifer doesn’t appear until they all reach the foyer, as if he’s been waiting for them; he appraises their group with a stern sort of approval.

“Good. At least  _ some _ of you won’t be late for class,” he tells them, stepping aside so that they can approach the front doors. But he reaches out and halts Eleanor with a press of his hand against her shoulder. “Eleanor, there’s going to be a birthday party for Diavolo as the Demon Lord’s Castle coming up soon. This year, you’re coming as well.” It isn’t an invitation so much as an order, but enough of her good mood remains from earlier that she doesn’t fight it on principle. 

“Sure,” she agrees, nonchalant. Some of the tension he’d been holding leaves him, as if he’d been preparing for a fight.

“No arguments?” Lucifer says as if he’s expecting her to reconsider. She only shrugs at him. “Great. That certainly makes things a lot easier.”

“Wait,” she starts, bewildered. “Makes  _ what _ a lot eas—”

“We really should get moving, or we’re going to be late,” Satan interrupts her, nudging the shoulder that Lucifer still has a hand on. 

* * *

Her classes, overall, seem a little less intensive than they were in her first semester—or perhaps she just understands the content better, now that she’s more literate in the local language. Still, there are gaping holes in her schedule, and she elects to spend the first preparing material for the first study group she’s meant to lead. For the first time since arriving in the Devildom, she’s had a reason to glance at her human-world textbooks. The history ones are what she’s especially grateful for, now that she’ll be expected to answer questions about it. 

The first introduction went well, even if having so many demonic eyes on her made her a little nervous. And the instructor she’ll be working in tandem with seemed nice enough too, if a little flighty.  _ Still, I guess if they’ve all signed up for or are teaching the Human Studies class, they at least don’t  _ hate _ humans… _ The thought is cold comfort as she twirls her pen around in her fingers, scanning the empty classroom she’s been allowed to use for her group. The pen catches on the rings around her fingers, and Eleanor sighs.

_ Maybe that’s what they’re really interested in, _ she allows herself to acknowledge. She knows that Solomon having so many pacts makes some of the demons a little jumpy around him, but she also knows what they say about him: he has powerful magic, so at least the pact demon will get  _ something _ out of it. Which means that she, without magic, has very little if anything at all to offer a pact demon; the fact that she’s managed to capture five of the most powerful in the realm has to be mystifying to the others.  _ Guess I’ll find out soon enough. _ A quick look at her phone tells her that the first students should be arriving in just a few minutes. 

She’s already set up the desks and chairs in a circle so they can all see each other and have easy, open conversations. Everything is ready for the group members to show up, and she tries to remain patient even as she checks the time on her phone. She checks twice more before anyone finally shows up, only to be startled by their sudden presence.

“Salome,” the demon says as she holds out her hand. Eleanor takes it, bemused; she’s not sure she’s seen demons shake hands before. The demon looks her over with an appraising eye, and Eleanor is grateful for how stiff the lines of the uniform are. Most demons, she’s discovered, have absolutely no compunctions preventing them from openly ogling someone. It’s quite a change from some of the Puritanical households she’s grown up in, and still sometimes catches her off guard.

“Eleanor,” Eleanor replies needlessly, and the demon nods. 

“You know, I think you’d make a good veil dancer. There’s room open in the troupe, and—”

“Oh, knock it off, Salome,” her demon companion sighs, his voice soft and gentle as he urges her to sit. Salome sighs and takes a seat, then considers Eleanor again. 

“Well, it’s  _ true, _ Bune” Salome whines as she fans her notes out on the desk in front of her. “Besides, it would be mutually beneficial. We’d get extra tutoring sessions, and  _ you _ ,” she turns her bright gaze to Eleanor, lingering at the rings on her fingers. “Well, I’m sure there’s someone you want to seduce, right? To catch? To get a favor from? The seven veils are  _ very _ effective—”

“Please excuse her,” Bune sighs, placing a hand over Salome’s mouth. His close-cropped, pale hair is a stark contrast against Salome’s dark, tight ringlets, and they don’t look anything alike; despite that, Eleanor gets the feeling that they share some sort of sibling relationship. “She just likes collecting rare things, and Solomon already turned her down.” There’s still time, and none of the other students have arrived yet, so Eleanor decides to humor him.

“Rare things?” She asks. Bune nods lazily, finally removing his hand from Salome’s mouth now that she seems less inclined to speak. 

“A human in the Devildom with pacts,” Bune nods towards Eleanor’s hands. “And a strange new magic—tell me, when did that happen?”

“... What?” But she’s spared having to answer anything when more of her fellow students file in and take seats. All of the seats in the circle are taken, and she’s happy to see them filled; it makes her feel like she’s starting to uphold her half of the terrible deal she’s made with Diavolo.

“Okay! Hi! Welcome!” If any of the demons are put off by her bubbly greeting, they keep it to themselves. “I’m Eleanor, but you probably already know that. I know that classes have just started, but I also know that you’ve already gotten your first homework assignment. If anyone has any questions, I’ll be glad to help, but I think that we should all start with— _ no, _ ” she cuts herself off, eyes glued to the interloper standing in the doorway.

Belphegor leans against the frame, looking like he’s just woken up. One of the students in front of Eleanor winces at her tone and the magic that rolls off of her in angry waves, but she’s not aware of either.

“This session is full. Get out of here,” she orders him, one hand balled into a fist while the other points imperiously away from herself. Belphegor looks around the room lazily, taking everyone in. 

“There’s an extra chair there,” he points out, nodding to the spare she’s pushed against the wall behind her. Fury rolls through her and the lights above her head flicker, the magic that keeps them lit almost drowning in hers like a match in a gale storm. Anger makes it difficult to speak, so she stomps over to where the chair sits, grabs it by the backrest, and drags it behind her.

“Move,” she hisses at him, but shoulders past him anyway. In the hallway, she throws the chair as far away from her as she can get it; the metal legs clatter against the stone floor until it comes to a rest on its side.

“And now there isn’t,” she tries to keep her voice even even as her chest heaves with the effort of keeping herself from shouting. Belphegor only gives her his slight smile and holds up both of his hands, palms facing towards her as if that would convince her he’s harmless.

“Fine, fine,” he says, stepping out into the hallway to join her. “But you can’t avoid me forever, you know?”

She wants to rake her nails down his face, but settles for watching him slink far away from the classroom she’s claimed for herself. That same classroom is silent when she steps back into it, shutting the door hard enough that the glass pane set inside rattles.

“I apologize for that intrusion,” she tells them, running her hand through her hair. One of the rings on her finger catches and she grits her teeth at a small, sharp burst of pain. 

“Lovers’ quarrel?” Salome quips, and Eleanor rounds on her, temper threatening to spill over. 

“Hardly,” she snarks instead, taking her seat. But Salome’s question, as inappropriate as it is, gives her an idea. “Actually, let’s talk about how a human expects to be treated when they’ve been wronged.”

Her smile, vicious and pointed and combined with the sharply holy magic emanating from her, is enough to make some of the weaker demons nervous. It’s only when she notices the lights still flickering that she realizes there might be something wrong. 

* * *

“I have a problem,” she says to Satan, suddenly clutching his arm to her. She’s glad she’s caught him before he managed to leave the Academy for home. The magic still thrums in her veins, and when he looks at her—pupils contracting and then widening, the way the skin of her hand sparks against his—she knows he can feel it, too. The study group was broken up not too long after it started. “I think I have magic.”

Satan only nods in agreement, which is not the reaction she’d been expecting when she dropped what she felt was a revelation. She huffs at him and lets go of him to cross her arms over her chest. 

“Of course you do,” he tells her patiently, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And I’m the last one to realize this because…?”

“You’ve had other things on your mind, I imagine,” Satan tells her without looking at her. He scans the area around them as if looking for something. When he doesn’t find it, he directs all of his attention back towards her. 

“Okay, well. It’s causing problems. I don’t know what I’m doing with it, and it’s not like Lilith left a handbook, so…” Eleanor chews on her bottom lip, debating the wisdom of what she’s about to ask even as she’s already decided on her course. “Is there a way to block it? Turn it off, or something.”

The horrified expression on Satan’s face tells her all that she needs to know: namely, that he will not help her in the way she wants him to. He doesn’t frown nearly as often as Lucifer, but he frowns at her now; it’s moments like this that remind her how similar he is to Lucifer, despite attempts on both demons’ sides to pretend they don’t exist. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he tells her.

“No, shit,” she replies. “Please help me figure it out. I’m afraid something is going to happen.”  _ I’m afraid an angel is going to notice, _ she doesn’t tell him.  _ Because then I have to figure out how to explain how they suddenly appeared. _ He looks hard at her face and she’s sure that he’s going to refuse her again. So it’s surprising to her that he wraps his hand around her wrist and leads her in the direction of the Royal Library. 

“I’ve already checked the library for magic stuff,” she protests as she tries to keep up with his pace. He barely spares her a glance backwards as they pass through the library’s doors and main desk. He slows down then, and she falls into step beside him. 

“You haven’t been to the archives, though,” he tells her, voice low to avoid drawing attention. “I want to show you why this sort of witchery is tightly restricted. It’s  _ dangerous. _ ” There’s a simple door on the other side of the librarian’s desk, one that is completely unassuming, begging to be ignored. It’s this door that Satan approaches, pressing his hand against the keyhole. Eleanor feels a brief flash of magic—a feeling that she’s still coming to terms with—and the door swings open. 

“The archives,” he tells her with a flourish of his hand, as if he’s presenting her with a treasure. “Access is restricted, so you unfortunately will not be allowed to come here without me. And we  _ must _ be quiet; there are creatures down there that hunt noisemakers.” He smiles when he says it, like it brings him some sort of pleasure or it’s a private joke. Eleanor just wishes he’d let her in on what’s so funny. 

He summons a light and it follows them down the stairs into the archives, bobbing above his head as he pulls ancient books off of the shelves in an order Eleanor can’t discern. He piles them into her arms until they find a table, and she dumps them onto the surface. When they make a solid  _ thump _ noise she winces, turning to Satan with wide eyes. Satan places a finger over his lips but shakes his head. 

_ So that wasn’t loud enough, _ she thinks, almost sighing in relief. 

The books are, of course, written in Demonic; some of them are handwritten, she realizes with mounting horror. The cramped letters and archaic words give her headaches, and she has to ask Satan the meanings of some of the more obtuse words.

“Implosion,” he whispers into her ear, his finger tracing just above the page. It’s not what she wants to hear, and she would really rather not imagine the magic singing through her veins cannibalizing itself to get out. Eleanor pulls a face and is quick to turn the page, eager to see something—anything—else. Her gaze falls on intricate designs, circles shot through with careful lines and angles.

“What’s this?” She points to them, the labels above and below them full of words she doesn’t recognize. Satan leans over to look at her page, far too close. 

“Pact marks,” he tells her, and she frowns, pointing to her rings, questions written on her face. He shakes his head.  _ Not here, _ he mouths to her, and her frown deepens. She twists one of the rings on her finger nervously, and then thinks of Solomon, her eyes narrowing.  _ He doesn’t have a billion rings, but it’s supposed to have over seventy pacts. _

She pulls another book from the pile and flips through it, not finding anything she thinks might help; the books keep giving her exactly the answers she doesn’t want, that suppression is bad, that things will get worse now that they’ve been set loose. By the time she’s paged through the rest of the books Satan found, any hope she’s had of putting her problems in a box to forget about has been dashed. 

“I want to go back,” she tells him, facedown on the table. Even she isn’t sure if she means she wants to return to the House of Lamentation or the human world. While she’s not looking, Satan spirits the books back to where they belong. 

“Okay,” he says, and she isn’t sure if she should be thankful or hate him for dashing her hopes so thoroughly and so swiftly, with references to boot. But she doesn’t stand when he does, preferring to keep her seat.

“I want to go back,” she whispers again. “Before any of this happened, I just… want it to be like it was.” It doesn’t matter to her if Satan’s heard her confession or not; just admitting it makes her feel a little better even as it hurts. “I shouldn’t have trusted him and I knew it, but I did anyway.”

Satan doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. She turns her head to look at him, both eyes searching his face as he holds out his hands for her. Eleanor hesitates before reaching out for him, letting him lead her back up and away from the archives. 

They settle on going back to the House of Lamentation, where he doesn’t let her hide in her room like she wants to. But he doesn’t make her speak, either, which she’s grateful for. While some of her wants to rage against the place she’s found herself in, but mostly she just wants to exist in the quietude that Satan’s room exudes. Eventually, he sits down next to her, pressing a mug of something warm into her hands. She doesn’t know where he’s gotten it from.

“Want to talk about it?”

Eleanor holds the mug in her hands, letting the heat seep into her fingertips and the steam rise up to her face.

“Yeah.”


	63. Markings

Words pour from her until she has none left to offer; her throat hurts from the strain of them and the tears she chokes back. There’s a strange sort of unreality that overcomes her, like she’s an actor in a play she’s barely had time to read the script of. Satan sitting across from her, his inhuman green eyes glinting in the half light, does nothing to bring her back down to the world.

She feels stripped when she’s done, flayed of all of the secret thoughts she’d been keeping inside. 

She’s not sure how she feels about the way Satan looks at her, almost impassive. The way his expression hasn’t changed at all from the moment she started until now, when her words have run dry. Not that she’s been watching him the whole time; there’s something about it that she finds infinitely embarrassing, that makes her avert her eyes as soon as she’s made the mistake of looking up at him. It isn’t that he’s unkind about anything—the word feels inaccurate even just sitting in her thoughts. But it’s the nature of his kindness that worries her when she allows herself to think on it; somehow it feels manufactured, practiced. 

What she wants is to be held, wrapped up in an embrace that feels safe without it impacting how anyone sees her. It’s moments like these that she’s reminded, painfully, that she’s surrounded by demons and what that means for her. That the thing that shook her so soundly—badly enough that she feels like something’s broken off inside, tumbling and clattering around when she lets herself be quiet—is an average day for them. Of little consequence. It shouldn’t inspire the tangled mess of emotions sitting heavy in her chest, she knows, but it does anyway.

“Exhale,” Satan tells her, pressing a hand against her back as if to help her expel the air in her lungs. After a moment, she does, exhaling a gusty sigh until her lungs feel like they’re burning. “Now hold your breath.”

She glances at him, quirking a brow, but doesn’t take the deep breath that she wants to, not until he nods for her to breathe in. He watches, his expression not changing, as he withdraws his hand from her person. Despite herself, she feels a little better, some of the mounting panic dissipating before it can take hold. 

“Why do you know breathing exercises?”

“I am the Avatar of Wrath,” he tells her, watching as she breathes out again. “Surely you didn’t think I was naturally so composed?” She hadn’t thought about it much at all, actually, but she’s loath to admit that. Instead, she settles on shaking her head as she breathes in deeply. Satan smirks at her, which is infuriating. 

“Regardless, whatever manifestation of magic you have seems to flare up when you’re feeling particularly strongly about something. The flickering lights, for example.”

_ Great, _ she thinks, making herself breathe normally again.  _ So literally everyone has noticed it. _ But she doesn’t let herself hold onto the feeling, allowing herself to nod at his words.  _ A distraction, _ she thinks.  _ I want a distraction. _ So she scrambles for something—anything—to change the subject. The rings on her fingers are a welcome intrusion into her thoughts as she stares down at her hands.

“What are these?” She asks, and if he’s taken aback by the sudden change in subject he doesn’t show it. Instead, his eyes lock onto the ring he’d given her, to the exclusion of all others. 

“A mark of a pact,” he says, and she narrows her eyes in challenge.  _ Then what were those things in the books? _ It’s a question she doesn’t have to verbalize; he knows what her expression means. “A lesser pact,” he clarifies. “Think of them like a contract with an end date: a temporary solution that can easily be revoked.”

For a moment, she forgets that she hadn’t really wanted the pacts to begin with; they’d been little more than a means to an end, a way of securing her tenuous safety in those first few days of her stay in the Devildom. If she’d been told at the start that the rings could have been given back as easily as they’d been given to her, she would have been happy at the time. She would have happily pictured herself handing them back when the year was up, releasing everyone from their bonds. 

But now she holds her hands up to her chest, close against her heart, and stares at Satan. 

She doesn’t want to own them, or control them, or anything else that she’s sure a pact is meant to be used for.  _ Temporary. _ The word rings in her head like a carillon, a terrible klaxon of an answer to things she hadn’t dared to ask.

“Oh.”

She reminds herself that she shouldn’t be upset—that she  _ isn’t _ upset because she couldn’t have let herself expect anything else—as she twists her most recent ring on her finger.  _ Should I give it back now? Since the reason for it has been… accomplished. _ There’s an unpleasant tightening in her stomach as she tugs at the ring on her finger. 

“A lesser pact does not require an exchange. They can be given freely, without anything in return, which is why they can be revoked so easily. A full pact  _ requires _ an exchange; neither party leaves empty handed.” Satan grabs both of her hands before she can pull his ring off and offer it back to him. She doesn’t offer any resistance when he slides it back on, either.

“A pact like what you saw illustrated is less of a contract and more of a… binding.” She doesn’t need magic to tell her that he thinks any demon to enter into a binding is a fool; it’s written clearly enough across his face. “There have been demons known to give out lesser pacts to humans they prefer to keep close to them, sometimes without the human’s full knowledge or consent. But a  _ binding _ requires both and cannot be annulled. That is why, I think, nobody tried to mark you.” 

Eleanor wants to believe him. Whether or not she actually does is another matter entirely. Just like she  _ wants _ to trust him, but some part of her knows that she shouldn’t, that she’s been warned repeatedly by the angels—and in some small ways, the demons themselves—not to trust them. It feels heavy. She curls into herself, making her figure as small as possible. 

“Okay,” she says, even though she doesn’t think it is.  _ I still have over half of a year to go, _ she thinks, the sick feeling in her stomach growing stronger. The prospect is no longer as exciting as she would have found it a few weeks ago; she feels like she’s back at the start, the rug pulled out from under her feet once again.  _ It doesn't stop. I want it to stop. _

“I don’t like this.” Her words are sudden, even to herself, especially after she just tried to assure him she was fine. Eleanor sits up straight again and forces herself to meet Satan’s eyes. “I don’t like…  _ any _ of this. I don’t want—” She hiccups, cutting off her own words. Not that it matters. She doesn’t actually know what she wants; stating what she doesn’t want will only get her so far. 

“Breathe,” Satan reminds her, reaching out again to run a hand up and down her spine. She forces herself to draw breath in time with the trail of his fingers and covers her eyes with her hands so that he can’t see as many of her tears. The combination of steady breaths and the warmth of his hand seeping through her clothes actually makes her feel better, even though she tells herself she shouldn’t be drawing comfort from him. 

“What if I don’t want the pacts anymore?” She has no intention of ever using any of them to benefit herself; she’s not like what they keep telling her Solomon is, after the power and status pacts bring. She’s hyper aware of the rings on her fingers, plucking at them with nervous fingertips again. And again, he closes his hands around her fingers, stilling her movements. 

“Keep them,” he entreats, lacing his fingers between hers. “You live in a house full of demons. You attend a demon academy, and some of your classmates wish you harm. What magic you have is unstable, untested, and unreliable.”

It’s logical. It makes sense.

Some part of her hates him for it. Some part of her wishes that it’s exactly as she first thought, that the whole thing is a strange, strange dream that she’ll wake up from soon enough. 

She’s not sure what she’d wanted: some grand gesture of wanting or desire, perhaps, even if it makes her feel selfish and insecure even as it passes through her mind. Something to assure her that she isn’t actually as temporary as she feels. He pulls away too soon, and Eleanor is afraid that her thoughts will show through her eyes so she looks away from him, down at the floor. 

“Belphegor will not harm you,” he tells her, and it’s another thing she  _ knows _ but does not feel—if only because the demons around her keep saying it.  _ He won’t hurt me, _ she wants to laugh in his face because it’s too late for that.  _ Did you know that I tried to be his friend? That the last time I trusted him with anything, he used it to harm me? _ She wants to drip those poison questions into his ear only so that they’d be off of her tongue, out of her head. 

But she keeps her mouth stubbornly shut, feeling wrung out enough for one day. It’s not Satan she wants to confront with the truth anyway.

“But I’ll do what I can to make sure you’re not alone with him.”

“Okay,” she says, her voice cracking around the simple word. 

* * *

The first thing she does after classes is hunt down Solomon, brushing her demon escorts aside as she asks him to follow her into a temporarily empty classroom. Mammon offers the quietest protest she’s ever heard from him, but that’s hardly surprising; he’s still doing his best to ignore her. She doesn’t have the mental energy to try to figure out what, exactly, is causing him angst today.

He finds the determined set to her jaw amusing, she knows, but makes a good show of not laughing directly into her face. 

“Show me your pact marks,” she tells him, placing her hands on her hips, trying to make herself look bigger than she actually is. Bizarrely, thoughts of finding the smallest demon she possibly can and forcing them to be her friend wind their way through her mind; she’s tired of everyone around her being so damned tall. 

“Buy me dinner first,” he quips with a lopsided grin, and she feels heat flush through her face.

“That isn’t that I meant and you know it,” she snaps, using bravado to cover up the fact that she hadn’t bothered to consider  _ where _ the marks might be. Not even once.  _ Shit, _ she panics, rapidly reconsidering her demand. He humors her with a smirk as he starts to roll up his sleeves.

“I was wondering when you’d get curious,” he tells her, and she stares hard at the pale skin he reveals on his wrists.  _ This feels indecent, somehow, _ she thinks, furrowing her brows, consoling herself that it’s just because she’s used to seeing him in so many layers. Nothing appears, at first, until he pulls his sleeves up a little higher. The same types of thin lines appear on his skin, delicate swirls and harsh angles decorate his skin to create a dizzying effect.

_ They definitely look permanent, _ she thinks as she chews on her bottom lip. She can’t differentiate where one pact mark starts and another ends; they overlap each other with measured chaos. Suddenly, she’s grateful that none of the demons have marked her in the way Solomon’s been marked; she wouldn’t have been grateful for it, especially in the beginning. 

“Why the full pact?”

Solomon only smiles at her again, a harsh gleam in his eye. “Secret,” he tells her, tapping the side of his nose.  _ Naturally. _ Her lips curl into something between a grimace and a sneer. She gives up; there’s nothing else that she’s going to get from him, not when he’s in his tricksy mood. 

“Ugh. Fine,” she says dispassionately, as if she doesn’t care at all. He rolls his sleeves back down and then pauses, acting as if he’s just been struck by a thought.

“You know, though, since we  _ do _ share a pact with Asmodeus, I suppose I could show you that one—”

“No!” She interrupts him, too loud to pretend to be unaffected. Wherever Asmodeus has placed his mark, she’s sure it’s nowhere she wants to see on the sorcerer. “Forget about it.” There’s not much she can do to salvage what remains of her pride, so she turns on her heel as if she’s the one still in control of the failed attempt at a conversation. 

“That was not enlightening,” she admits to Leviathan, who agreed to stay with her. The relief he feels that her conversation hadn’t lasted long is almost palpable.

“Can we go back now?” Leviathan asks, tired of the number of people surrounding them. “There’s going to be a live show soon, and I don’t want to miss the start.” He’d mentioned it before, and she remembered him saying something about it over breakfast. Eleanor nods and reaches for his hand before she remembers how much he seems to hate it. 

“Where’d Mammon go?” She asks. He’s disappeared again, as flighty as he’s been for the past few days. Leviathan shrugs. 

“Probably back home.”

Eleanor grits her teeth at his words, but doesn’t take out her frustrations on Leviathan. It doesn’t take long to get back to the House of Lamentation. Eleanor stops in her room long enough to drop off her things, dumping her books and bag in a heap beside her desk. Her warpath draws attention; Leviathan’s shoe doesn’t start for a few more minutes, and Asmodeus has a preternatural sense for drama. She pounds Mammon’s door and shouts for him to open up.

“Nobody’s home!” He bellows back. Behind her, Asmodeus sighs at his brother’s actions but is clearly amused for the time being.

“You’re clearly in there!” She shouts back, stamping her foot. Leviathan mutters something about normies and privately, Eleanor agrees that the whole situation is extremely annoying. 

“Go spend time with your human friend!” He shouts out to her from behind his door. His voice is muffled, even more than she thinks it should be just from the distance his door provides. And then his behavior slots into place in her mind and makes sense; it started after she went out with the sorcerer, after all. She huffs in irritation and cards her fingers through her hair.  _ Are you seriously being jealous? _ She wants to shout through the door to him. Instead she huffs in irritation.

“Fine!” She shouts at him, pounding on his door once with her open palm. “I just wanted to let you know that Solomon and I are going to elope, and then we’re gonna have half a dozen beautiful little babies!” She rolls her eyes as she says it, expressing her exasperation to Asmodeus and Leviathan. Leviathan’s face goes bright red and he busies himself with something on his phone; Asmodeus looks far too excited about the lie she’s just told. She’s about to give up and walk away when Mammon’s door flies open.

His arm darts out, and she has half a second to process that he’s standing in front of her before he yanks her into his room. She yelps in surprise, tripping over her own feet.

“Have fun in there!” Asmodeus calls out to her, sounding far too cheery. 

“You are  _ not, _ ” Mammon says, not loud enough for his brothers to hear him through his door; Eleanor desperately hopes that they’re not still there, but she wouldn’t put it past Asmodeus to have his ear pressed against the door. She notes that the statement, coming from Mammon, is more of a question. 

“Of course I’m not,” she scoffs, pulling her arm from him. He looks hurt, his lips pulled almost into a pout. “But you’re acting childish and that was the only way I could get you to open the door and talk to me.” He almost argues with her statement, but the fact that she’s standing in his room is testament to how well her ruse worked. 

“‘M not acting childish,” he says instead, crossing his arms. It does little to make him seem any less puerile. Eleanor only looks at him until he drops his arms, proving her point. 

“You wanna talk about it? Or I guess you can keep hiding in your room, but I think I’ve cornered the market there, so—”

“Are you leaving?” He interrupts her, and she can’t find it within herself to be angry about it.  _ Do you want me to? _ She almost asks, but she already knows the answer; after all, he’s still holding onto her arm like he’s afraid she might evaporate. It’s this that cools her temper, soothes the absurd hurt that’s been building up ever since she spoke with Satan. 

“No.” In that moment she decides it’s not a lie. She considered moving, begging Diavolo to put her anywhere else but the House of Lamentation for the duration of her stay. The revelation that she doesn’t actually want to, that others don’t want her to, is almost startling in its intensity. And there’s a spiteful part of her that hopes Belphegor is as unsettled by her staying as she is by him in general. 

“N-not that I’m excited about it, or anything,” Mammon is quick to say, his obvious relief stealing any credibility from his words. And  _ that _ … That feels normal; she’s happy to hold onto it for as long as she can. 


	64. Salted Earth

Etiquette lessons are humiliating. They're an endless litany of new things to learn, lessons to perfect, new little things to cram into her brain.  _ Keep your back straight, learn the social hierarchy, be aware of the thousands of little power struggles, know which gifts to accept and which to reject, learn when to avoid thanking a demon lest you find yourself in debt.  _ The thin protection previously extended to her because of her ignorance of their customs is no longer expected to apply. 

_ Now I get why the French cut off their nobles' heads _ , she thinks, resentment spreading like acid in her gut when her instructor raps her knuckles and orders her to try the bow again. Eleanor doesn't see the point in having to fold her hands _ just so _ to present claws she doesn't have, or stretch out her back to display her non-existent wings. She's just grateful that her tutor hasn't found a tail substitute to fuss over; she's not sure how she feels about having something wrapped around her leg for the sake of polite society. 

She feels like a porcelain doll, vacated of her own essence only to be filled up with demon rules— _ don’t bite, don’t get bitten, subjugate yourself to nobody _ —until she feels rancor and spite clawing at her from the inside. A foster grandmother had rows and rows of the dolls, all lined up on a shelf and trapped behind dusty glass. Forever staring down at the world below them, unable to impact it in any way. Look, but do not touch. 

The lone—and increasingly thinning—silver lining about the whole scenario is that she spends even less time at the House of Lamentation than she originally thought she would. Between etiquette lessons and study groups and assisting the Human Studies professor, she's barely there long enough to sleep at night or eat meals. Her constant movement and focus on everything but her is anesthetic, helps to keep her cool and numb, hidden too deep inside to be touched by Belphegor or his near-constant presence lingering in her background.

She’s not left alone with him. Ever. The wall between them is camouflaged as camaraderie between brothers, but it is still there, still an effective barrier between herself and anything that might touch her. 

The same can be said of all of the little things that keep her busy, her self-imposed exile from what she knew as her new normal. Salome is kind, in her demon way, and Eleanor lets her talk about the dance she loves; it’s good to hear the passion she has for her craft. Eleanor thinks of all the times she used to go to fabric stores to stand in between the bolts and reams of fabric she’d never be able to afford, dreaming up designs and stories to go with each new creation. Those things still live in her head the way Salome’s dances live in hers. 

For the first time in a long while, Eleanor feels the urge to create. Pricked fingers and tiny little bubbles of blood remind her what it is to spin something together, and when she presses the fabric together to create the folds she wants, it feels like she’s pressing some of her troubles away. There is no rhyme or reason to the scarves she creates, the magic she accidentally spills into them from her fingertips. Salome claims the one that shines like an oil slick, changing colors with every turn. 

It’s another barrier to avoid thinking about the things that hurt, that allow her to approach them sideways without ever getting too close. Look, but do not touch.

“Oh, hey,” Mammon catches her attention one morning as they’re about to step into the academy. “Whaddya say we play a game? Like, you and me. We’ll take turns sayin’ that we’d like more than anything else. I mean, there’s gotta be something you miss from the human world, right?” His question makes Eleanor pause as she reaches for the door handle.

“Class is about to start,” Belphegor points out lazily, almost interrupting her train of thought. But he’s on the other side of his brother and she’s far enough away from his reach that she’s not derailed for too long.

“I’ll go first: money!” Mammon declares as if Belphegor hasn’t spoken at all. His declaration isn’t a surprise to anyone at all, but it does make Eleanor think. In the human world, money would have solved a lot of her problems. She shoulders her bag, shifting the weight pressing down on her shoulders as she glances up at the dark sky. Money would have  _ helped _ , but there are things she wants that material possessions cannot bring.

“The sun,” she says simply, staring up at the brilliant, silvery moon. “I think I miss the sun the most.” Mammon sputters something about her not being helpful, but her mind is occupied by thoughts of summer rays and dust motes floating through dappled sunlight and the way glass will catch the sunshine and throw out tiny little prisms to hear him. All things she hasn’t seen in… Months. Four, at least, if she’s counting right. Her breath turns to little clouds in front of her, as if to remind her of that fact. Probably five, but the first semester felt a little shorter to her than the one she would have experienced in the human world. She’s still thinking of the sun and time as she steps into her first class of the day.

* * *

She dreams that she wakes in the dark, laid out on cords of banded wood that dig into her back and scrape against exposed skin when she drags herself into a sitting position. The kindling groans under her shifting weight, little rasps of noise that pierce the silence all around her. In the still darkness she does not speak, only reaches out where she cannot see in hopes that she finds something familiar.

Her fingers land on something cool and not quite smooth; it feels swollen, hard lumps giving way to messy abrasions that Eleanor recoils from. The darkness pulls back just enough to give her eyes some relief and she looks around to see only a void. Only she, the pyre, and the corpse beside her exist. 

Her hand is still on the corpse’s face and she recoils with a shriek that reverberates around her, muffled in her own ears by the oppressive yawning nothingness. The face is familiar, even under the swelling and bruising and scrapes. The hair that spills out onto the bundles of unrefined wood and curls under peeling bark she knows, has twisted in between her fingers innumerable times. The coagulated gore on the corpse’s midsection she is intimately familiar with, and Eleanor can’t help but to press a hand just below her sternum. 

She knows these remains. She’s seen them in the mirror every single day for the past two decades—until she covered those mirrors, hid away her reflection. There’s nothing but her own clothing and the wood to wipe her hands on, but she doesn’t want to look away to find anything else lest the fell creature move. Eleanor knows that she should move, get away from the corpse of herself. Instead, she stares, transfixed, at what could have been. What  _ should _ have been, perhaps, if nothing overstepped their boundaries to intervene. She holds her breath even though her dream is devoid of scent.

The corpse opens angel-blue eyes, vacant and dull with empty promises and the memory of porcelain. Eleanor shoves her hand into her mouth so she does not scream and draw attention, scrambles away from her as quickly and as quietly as she can. But her own corpse remains still, eyes wide but empty to the world.

_ I don’t want to be this, _ Eleanor thinks, landing hard on the ground beside the pyre, scrambling away from the could-have-should-have been. She takes a deep breath, forcing her lungs to stretch to their full capacity until she can feel them burn. Around her, the darkness melts away, colors bleed in around her. With one last pained gasp that reverberates in her chest like a heartbeat, the corpse and pyre fade away. 

Grass brushes against her instead of dried sticks, and she knows that if she were to stand, it would likely reach her knees at least. Eleanor feels the impression of warmth across her shoulders but does not look up, stares instead at the way the light plays against each blade. 

It’s counterfeit, and not even a good one. 

Far, far in the distance she spies what must be the House of Lamentation. She recognizes its silhouette, even though she’s never seen it so brightly before. Eleanor wraps her arms around her knees and squints into the distance, refusing to look to her side. There’s someone there, her dream sense tells her. Someone she doesn’t want to see, so she doesn’t. 

"I felt safe there, for a little while," she tells him, thinking of the demon house as she stares up at the fake sun. She knows it's fake. She hasn't seen the sun in so long, and neither has the creator of this illusion. It's not bright enough, little more than a yellowish moon in a fair blue sky. It doesn't sear her eyes or breathe heat across her face the way the real sun does. "You don't get to take that away from me."

It's easier, in the dream, to speak to him without stuttering through her words, lips too frozen in fear to move. It's easier to pretend that he's listening to her and not just looking at her like a piece of meat he'd like to carve up and devour. She'd rather stare into the real sun than look at him, but there's something captivating about his presence beside her, something that draws her attention more than any of the other dream setpieces surrounding her.

"I don't want to. Anymore," he concedes, giving her a look that she might describe as shy if any other face wore it. On him, though, she thinks it's just conniving. The fact that he's admitted to wanting to terrorize her is not a surprise; neither is the fact that her dreaming subconscious wants it to be in the past. She snorts in response and looks out into the field. It's tranquil. She wonders if she's ever seen a picture of this place before up in the human world; she knows she's never been there before in person.

"Look at me," he demands, and she's frustrated that even in her own dream he commands her attention. She turns her head to look at him, fighting her own movements the whole way. It's when she makes eye contact with him that he moves, nudging her down into the tall grasses. He leans over her, pressing her shoulders into the soft ground as he blocks out the false sun above them.

She goes cold, the false blood in her dreaming body going still.

"I don't want to hurt you anymore," the demon whispers into the space between her collarbone and neck, right next to where blood would be rushing under her skin. She stares up, eyes wide and wet.

Remembering.

The last time he laid over her.

The last time he touched her neck.

_ No, no, no, _ she chants in her mind because her lips won't move, she's frozen. The dream she'd cautiously accepted is quickly turning to a nightmare.

"N-n-n-n—" she manages to moan, a precursor to what she really wants to say, but she can't get her teeth to unclench, her tongue to move properly. He shushes her with his finger against her lips, and she desperately wants to bite him. To turn into something with wicked teeth and claws to tear him off of her.

"I know what you're thinking of," he tells her slowly, soothingly, as if he understands her plight. "Let's create better memories, okay? You and me. Together."

He presses a kiss to the corner of her jaw and she has enough wherewithal to press her hands against his chest even though it feels like she's trying to move through wet cement. She doesn't care. Anything to keep him from coming closer.

"No," she manages to grind out, gaining ground in her victory. She stares at her fingers and her vision swims as she tries to count them.  _ One, two, th… three—no, start over. One, two— _

The reminder helps.

"This is my dream," she announces, not caring that her voice wavers, cracks at the end. Whether it's to remind herself or him she doesn't know, but it gives her enough resolve to shift her hips, kick her leg out and up and switch their positions with a dreamlike, fluid movement.

"This is  _ my _ dream." She's braver now as she says it, more confident. He looks up at her and says nothing, and she wonders if that's because she's still too soaked through with terror to come up with a script for him.  _ Doesn't matter, _ she tells herself.  _ I have control now. _

She doesn't want him to kiss her, barely wants him to look at her, but even if it's just a dream she wants him to hear her. To listen to her anger and hurt. _ If only I had something poignant to say _ . 

"You hurt me." It's the only thing she can think of. Everything else is scattered fragments of thoughts too sharp to try to string together into something sensible. Like how she told him secrets about herself when he was locked up, like how she could have cared for him, maybe. Like how sometimes she secretly worries that she's still dead or dying and everything that's happened is little more than the last hallucinatory gasps of her dying brain.  _ Then this is a dream within a dream _ . The thought makes her smile angrily down at him, her mouth full of razor sharpness.

"I can't ever forgive you." Perhaps it's the next best thing to whatever it is she really wants to say. But her true desires are little more than a howling scream of betrayal that can't and won't ever fit into something as limiting as words.

"I don't expect you to," he tells her, and she twitches when she feels him run a hand up her side.  _ Should have tied his hands up somehow, _ she curses. Awake, he might not be able to breathe with the way her knees dig into his chest. In the dreamz it doesn't bother her nightmare manifestation at all.

"Don't touch me," she snaps and mercifully, he drops his hands back to his side. Even a hollow victory is a victory she'll take, glad to have anything at all. She stares down at him, studying his face below her. Wonders if she should wrap her hand around his throat.

Decides against it at the last moment, but lets her hands hover beside his neck as a threat. 

"You're not so scary like this." Not when he's below her, placid and unmoving and she can just barely start to shake the feeling of him over her in the attic. A hand stroking down his face, marveling at how still and pliant he is doesn't feel so wrong. Her words break over him like the sun through the clouds; she wonders why she'd ever dream him with that blissful expression on his face. Can't imagine she'd ever want him to lean into her touch the way he is now.

"Oh? Is this how you like to play?"

"...What?" His words don't make any sense to her, and she's still trying to catch up when he captures one of her hands in his own. She stares down at where he holds her in dawning horror.

"I won't ever scare you again," he tells her with the tone of a promise. But it's a lie because he's starting to scare her  _ now _ and only makes it worse when he presses a kiss to the underside of her wrist, where delicate veins and a racing pulse would rest. He follows it with a little bite that makes her flinch.

She hits him.

She moves on instinct and impulse, crashing her fist into the side of his face so hard pain ricochets up through her wrist and his head snaps to the side.

"You weren't supposed to do that," she tells him with a shaking voice because this is  _ her _ dream and she  _ did not want him to do that.  _ She's meant to be in control.  _ Right? _

He looks up at her like he doesn't mind at all, as if he hasn't felt a thing. Awake, she might be shocked and horrified at her own reaction, that she'd ever hit anyone. Trapped as she is in this dream with him, she's more concerned that she can't seem to control anything.

"I love you," he tells her, unperturbed by her violent reaction. "And it doesn't matter if you don't love me right now. I can wait. I’d rather you hate me for the time being if that means you’re not afraid anymore." He says it so confidently, so certain that he'll be able to grind her denials and protests to dust that she shrinks back. Old whispers of his—that hate and love are close together, seated beside each other on the mobius strip of feeling—invade her thoughts and, bizarrely, bring her some small measure of comfort.  _ At least I know where this is coming from, _ she thinks, but it’s hollow consolation. He reaches up and rubs circles into the inside of her wrist and she yanks back, hating every second he touches her even if it is a dream.

"You don't." Denial and fear make her voice heavy. "You don't! You're so—this is so fucked up," she breathes out, her vocabulary deserting her.

"Whatever you think you feel, it's not l—" she chokes on the word, coughing on the effort to try and spit it out. Even in a dream she can't force herself to say it to him, not when he's trying to profess his twisted version of it to her.  _ Why am I dreaming of this? _

"It's obsession," she finally settles on a more appropriate word. "It's obsession and you need to get over it."

"Never," he promises her. "I've already made up my mind."

His words jolt her from her sleep fully into wakefulness, and she finds herself tangled in her sheets, fighting for the ability to move. It reminds her of the paralysis from the beginning of the year.  _ It feels like starting over, _ she thinks as she tries to breathe deep, to will the feeling to filter back into her fingertips. When she can finally move again, heart still pounding in her ears, she sits up. Her soft bed is nothing like the pyre. Her face doesn’t feel bruised and the skin over her stomach is whole, if not unblemished.  _ Good enough, _ she tells her as she prepares herself for the morning—for more of the same, as it has been since classes started up again. 

She pauses in front of her mirror, and even though she knows it was just a dream, she pulls down the fabric she’d draped over the surface. It feels strange, in a way, to see her own face again. When she goes to leave her room, she doesn’t put the covering back up. 

The heat from her mug soothes her chilled fingertips, and she only half listens to the brothers chatter about something as she focuses on the warmth. Fragments of her dream still pick at her psyche, occupying her thoughts until there’s a lull in the noise around her. It’s quick to pick back up as if nothing happened at all, but it was enough to capture her attention. 

When she looks up, it’s right into Belphegor’s eyes, like he’s been waiting for her to notice his presence. He offers her a slow smile.

“Sweet dreams, I hope?”

Everything slides into place, and she finds herself having to play catchup to her racing thoughts. Her body is faster, though; she only realizes she’s thrown her mug of scalding coffee when it leaves her hands, flying through the air straight at Belphegor’s face. The brothers fall silent. The glass mug cracks against the wall and falls to the floor, shattered.

“Uh oh,” Asmodeus says in his singsong voice. “I think  _ someone _ crossed a line.” She doesn’t bother to tell him that he’s right. It’s not a question anyway. Someone snaps at Belphegor but she can’t tell who it is as she swings her bag onto her shoulders. 

She’s too busy considering the fact that all she feels is anger—none of the normal cloying fear in sight—and what that means. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, okay. Sorry for disappearing; a bad anniversary is coming up and I just... wasn't/am not in the headspace to write about a character that is also not in a good headspace.


	65. Ōdī et amō

She almost allows herself to expect that one of the demons will come charging after her when she flees the dining room for the Academy. Almost.

No footsteps ring out after her as she storms out the front doors of the House of Lamentation, letting them slam shut behind her with a thunderous crash that would, no doubt, have Lucifer scowling if he could hear it. They’ve locked, she knows. There’s no way she’s getting back inside without someone letting her in, but she decides that is a problem for her to face in the future. Hopefully a future that’s hours away. Fury still coils tight in her chest but she knows to keep a low profile amongst the mass of demon students. Her anger is a bright, harsh,  _ heavy _ thing that threatens to drag her down every moment she continues to hold onto it. 

Running, she knows, can only get her so far. Everyone says so; she’s seen the motivational posters hanging in guidance counselor’s offices, heard the speeches, the cutesy little feel-good choruses about getting over things on the radio. Problems are best faced-head on. 

But she’s never been allowed to practice that herself, never been given the chance to round on what is cornering her. Every heated household disagreement, schoolyard disruption, what felt like any little slip in her composure usually led to her being taken out of school, swapped between households, offered platitudes about things getting better, about how strong and steady she is. How good she is, so reliable. So dedicated. She doesn’t feel like she is, or ever has been.

The battles she’s been allowed to pick have been the quiet ones that she has never really owned, always in a defensive position that required her to hunker down in her foxhole to support someone else. Her ability to endure comes not from internal fortitude, she knows, has told herself repeatedly, but from a lack of any other options. It’s only now that she’s up against an actual demon that she realizes she doesn’t know how to wage her own crusade. 

He finds her.

She knew he would, which is why she’s allowed herself to wait in one of the empty classrooms alone. Unattended. His is the next class, and if she knows anything about him at all, it’s that he’ll take the opportunity to sleep. The instructor’s desk—cleared out now that there won’t be another class for the next block—offers her a higher vantage point, allows her to feel like she’s more in control of the situation than she really is.

“Sit,” she orders as soon as she sees he’s detected her presence. He slides into a seat towards the back of the room—what she assumes is his normal place—and she slides down from the desk. He looks unharmed from her rash reaction hours ago, and there’s a cutting disappointment that lances through her at the realization.  _ Nothing I ever do ever touches him, _ she thinks, clenching her jaw so she doesn’t say it out loud. Even in that stupid,  _ stupid _ dream that she wishes would just fade away he’d been unaffected when she hit him. The blade she’d dragged across his face had barely done any damage. 

She hates it.

Hates that she’s turned into something that wants to hurt someone else even more.  _ You don’t get to take that from me either, _ she wants to tell him. 

“I have to say, I’m surprised,” Belphegor drawls, tracking her movement through the room without moving his head. “I thought for sure you’d be shaking in your boots here, but you seem right at home, don’t you?” She sees his bait for what it is and barely deigns to look at him. Eleanor  _ is _ afraid, almost numbingly so. He knows it; she knows it. Pretending that she isn’t is just one more of his cruel little tricks.  _ I won’t ever scare you again, _ she remembers him telling her in a dream, and she wants to be sick. 

“I’m fine,” she forces herself to say, her mouth too stiff. Belphegor only sighs, nearly as dramatic as Asmodeus. 

“Compared to you, I’m not doing nearly so well; everyone's walking on eggshells around me. I guess that’s just the way it is, huh? After what I did, I shouldn’t expect any less.” He eyes her and her blood goes cold.  _ Is he asking for me to forgive him? _ That thought alone is enough to make her incandescent with rage. “I wonder if we can ever go back to the way things used to be?”

She doesn’t know if he means between himself and his brothers, but she fervently hopes so, hopes that he isn’t asking for forgiveness from  _ her _ in the worst possible way. 

“I’m never going to forgive you,” she blurts out, just to kill any aberrant hopes he might be fostering. Belphegor blinks slowly at her, but otherwise doesn’t give her any reaction to work off of.

“I need you to give up,” she tells him, careful to keep several empty desks between them. Belphegor sits, laying his head down on the arms he has crossed on the desk in front of him. Anyone else would look harmless, that way. To her, he looks like a coiled cobra, waiting to strike. “On me. On… whatever it is you  _ think _ you want.” She holds her elbow, an insecure pose meant to block her off from him. Belphegor only narrows his eyes at her.

Hatred, as he told her, can so easily twist into something else. He still hates humans, and would tell his brothers this if they were ever to ask. But this hatred is tempered, now, by the specimen living in their midst, standing before him. She fights him at every turn, hissing and spitting like a cornered hellcat. Belphegor still wants to break her, of course; but now, instead of using her as a stepping stone to what he truly desires, he wants to break her into something else. Something malleable. His.

Like a cosmic joke, a prank their father delivered unto them just for him,  _ she _ has become what he desires.

What’s best is that to break her, he barely has to lift a finger—a few whispered words at the right time, some subtle dream manipulation, a few lingering glances is all it takes to make her fray at the edges. And when she tries to build herself back up, she pulls at all the wrong threads, picks out all the wrong pieces. 

His brothers are either ignorant or uncaring, and Belphegor hopes that they see the benefit in all of this, all of the work that  _ he _ , of all creatures, is putting in. She’s helped them (him) so much already, done so much for them (him) by smoothing old hurts they haven’t (he hasn’t) thought to care about in millennia. Of course they have to have to. It’s only the natural conclusion to Lilith’s actions.

Lucifer explained it all well to him, in those days she hid in her room, jumping at shadows. Their sister was reborn as a human (the thought makes his skin crawl still, but he will allow it because she continued to exist even after she fell) and took in angel bastards in life and death, whittling her spirit down to almost nothing until…

Until  _ her. _

The human she brought here, straight into the wolves’ den as an unwitting sacrifice to the altar of his resentment. Yet that human emerged from it and stood to fight for them (him) again, to claw at the walls he’s built up around himself. Those same walls that fell at her feet, no matter how hard he tried to build them back up again. 

It’s almost violent, he thinks as he looks at her, standing silent in front of him, the way she seems to care for everyone she meets.

It no longer matters to him that she carries the pall of mortality with her always; that is something easily remedied, when the time comes. He can remain the same indolent demon he has been for so long until she grows tired and willingly accepts her fate, succumbs to the temptation laid out before her. 

She doesn’t have any other choice.

He isn’t giving her one.

“No,” he tells her simply, brought out of his meandering thoughts when she taps her foot against the stone tile impatiently. Her face twists and he thinks she might cry. But she composes herself, dropping her fists so they fall at her side. “You know if you just gave in, this would be a lot easier.”

“Excuse me?” Belphegor shrugs at her incredulous question, doesn’t even bother picking up his head from the desk. 

“What do you think is going to happen after the year is up?” He asks. His expression barely changes, but there’s a malicious edge to his voice that immediately raises her hackled. “You’ll just go back to your normal life? Find some pathetic human to settle down with? They’ll never be able to relate to you. You’ll never be able to fully relate to them.”

For a moment, she stops breathing. There’s some truth to his words; she knows it even as she pushes it from her mind, away from her. But his words hurt because of them still. Even locked up, he’d always been able to hide enough truth in his malice to get her to let down her guard.

“Face it,” he continues, and she closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see him speaking. “Of anyone here—anyone at all—have they said they love you? Aside from me.”

It’s a gamble on his part. If anyone else has said anything to her, then he’s lost. But he knows his brothers, knows their hang-ups. Knows that even if Satan feels something for her, he won’t know how to put it into words. Lucifer is too proud to. Leviathan too afraid of rejection to say anything at all. Asmodeus, Belphegor knows, won’t realize he feels something for someone until they’re out of his grasp. Mammon is clearly head over heels for the human but pretends he isn’t. Beelzebub is the biggest risk in the coup Belphegor is staging—but if it’s Beelzebub, if he’s said anything to Eleanor at all, then Belphegor knows he can work that to his favor. If she thinks she can never want Belphegor by himself, well, he knows he can perhaps sweeten the offer with his brother.

He watches as his words slot into place in her mind, as she realizes that her dream was not wholly her own. The look of horror dawning on her face is new and interesting; he’s not sure he’s ever seen anything like it before. It’s one last nail in the coffin he’s created for her, and a smile twitches over his lips as he watches it strike home.

She always wants people more than they want her, always clinging to whatever scraps she can get them to give her, grateful for whatever attention or companionship or little slice of forever she can persuade to her side. Her mouth goes dry and she feels her throat ache in the way it always does right before she cries. But she doesn’t want to—not in front of him and not when she’s terrified that he might try to wipe away her tears.

_ I was supposed to fight back, _ she thinks, her eyes still closed. She’s failed. She knows it. The niggling thought that maybe she should just give up, give in like he said, won’t leave her alone.  _ Path of least resistance. Isn’t that what I’ve tried to do? _ At least if she agrees now she can pretend it was really her decision, before she’s too far gone to have any decision at all. She can swallow her grief and anger and turn it inside. Like she always does. It won’t hurt anyone there. 

Something stops her. 

The shards of whatever it is that he’s broken—the thing she doesn’t have a name for, that she isn’t sure how to go about fixing—still dig deep, embedded further than she can ever excavate herself. She’s furious. Not at herself, for failing to predict things she couldn’t have. Not at anyone or anything beyond the demon sitting so nonchalantly in front of her now and an angel who no longer exists. She’s  _ mad. _ Mad that she’s had to put up with so much, mad that nothing is ever,  _ ever _ easy for her, that she still has to work so hard for things that aren’t hers, mad that Belphegor can just waltz into her life—the life that  _ he stole _ —and think he can just demand to be a part of it. Mad at Lilith, at her intervening in the life Eleanor never got to lead, at the chain reaction the angel set into motion that led Eleanor to where she is. Right now. 

_ Furious. _

She breathes out, trying to master the disgust and anger that smolders in her gut. Physically hurting him—or attempting to, anyway—hasn’t worked.  _ No surprise there, _ she thinks, bitter, still reeling from his words.  _ He’s a demon. I’d never be able to hurt him anyway. _

“No.” The word is simple. Calm and cool. She’s surprised at herself and turns that surprise into a bright smile, directing it at the demon. He tried to reach into her chest and pluck out her heart, to bruise it enough to keep for himself. But in doing so he overplayed his hand, let a little of his own defenses down and she knows, now, how to hurt him.

“No?” Alarm, for the first time, ghosts over Belphegor’s face as he repeats her word back to her. It isn’t the reaction he’s expecting, clearly. 

“Whether you’re right or not doesn’t matter,” she clarifies. “About other humans. About if nobody else ever loves me. It doesn’t matter. Wanna know why?” She’s almost giddy in her discovery. He says nothing. 

“I’ll never love you. I’ll never even  _ like _ you. No matter how hard you try. And you’re not used to trying, are you? Putting effort into things, I mean.” She shouldn’t be taking any joy from this, the schadenfreude that normally she finds abhorrent. “But I think I’ll let you try. By all means, try and change my mind before the year is up.”  _ It will just hurt you even more when I don’t, if you’ve put so much work in _ . 

“You’re challenging a demon,” he points out, all traces of surprise washed away by his normal apathy. 

“I sure am,” she beams. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be.” Eleanor doesn’t give him another opportunity to hold her up, to keep her from leaving the room. For the first time, it doesn’t feel like she’s fleeing. 

She stumbles from the empty classroom, head reeling from the victory she’s just scored over Belphegor. Eleanor still feels giddy, almost bubbly from her proclamation and the idea that she has something over him. A plan that requires nothing from her but inertia, to turn his own tendencies against him. 

“Luke! Simeon!” She gasps when she sees the two angels, throwing her arms out wide. It’s Luke that she targets first, wrapping him in a tight hug, one that a human child might find almost crushing. The angel only squeaks and scurries over to one of the seating areas tucked away in the little crevices the irregular hallways create. Simeon and Eleanor follow quickly behind. 

“You seem well,” Simeon tells her cautiously. She nods at him and claps her hands together once. 

“I’ve finally figured it out!” She doesn’t wait for either of the angels to ask  _ what _ she’s figured out, just like she doesn’t choose to interpret the cautious look Simeon throws her as a warning. No matter how much of a high she gets from her triumph, however, she knows that she has to be at least a little circumspect in her explanation. An angel surely would not condone whatever challenge it is that she’s thrown at Belphegor’s feet. Even if he is a demon. 

“This is all just a game to them,” Eleanor laughs. The fact that Belphegor accepted it so easily only solidifies her certainly. Simeon frowns at her like a disapproving schoolteacher while Luke nods emphatically beside him, looking for all the world like his overeager younger brother. 

“Is it?”

“Of course it is.” She waves off the angel’s question with a careless shrug. “Don’t get me wrong; it’s got high stakes. But I’ve figured it out,” Eleanor confides in the angel, wishing she could feel proud about it. Instead, she only feels sick. It's a game she never wanted to play but consoles herself that she can win. At least she knows they're even playing now. Simeon shakes his head slightly, just enough for her to be able to ignore the gesture. 

“I mean, come on. All the excuses for parties? Wacky hijinks? Nobody here is serious about anything. All I have to do is play along until the end of the year. Then once I’m home in the human world, they’ll all forget about me. It’s like taking a toy away from a little kid,” she looks over at Luke, who is only half listening to their conversation. A series of beeps and musical chimes from his phone indicates that the rest of his attention is taken up by some sort of game. “Sure, they might be upset for a little while, but as soon as the next shiny new thing comes along? It won’t matter. I’ll be old news.”  _ Free, _ she thinks but does not add.

“Oh, little lamb,” Simeon sighs. That’s not what she wants to hear right now, that disappointed or disapproving tone. Even Luke looks up at her, away from his game. She hopes she hasn’t sparked a new insecurity for him, that her own careless words haven’t crushed whatever budding friendships he’s been begrudgingly developing between himself and Beelzebub and Barbatos. 

“I’ve had a conversation,” she tells Simeon brightly, neglecting to mention that it was a conversation with  _ one _ of the demons. The angel still watches her warily; she knows that he doesn’t believe her, just like she knows he’s right not to believe her. “I know what I’m doing.”

* * *

She thinks of sunlight and glass cases and porcelain dolls, the jagged edges of broken things and turning blades and slow-acting poison, her thoughts meandering through all of her years and the dreams she once had. Anything but the dream she’d woken up from this morning, the one that wasn’t her own at all. Her lesson is coming down to an end—she can tell by the way her instructor’s lips are pressed into a thin, angry line.

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” the demon says, exasperation thick in their voice; Eleanor thinks that they want to be there about as much as she does and can barely contain the eye roll she wants to grace them with. But then she thinks of what tomorrow has in store: more snapping, more rapped knuckles, more reminders to straighten her spine to uncomfortable lengths. 

“No,” Eleanor says, surprising even herself. Again. She hadn’t really meant to say it; it was more of an expression of her feelings than a direct refusal. But now that the word is out and her instructor is looking at her, thunderstruck, that she realizes she doesn’t  _ have _ to put up with the embarrassment of it all. She has very little power in the Devildom—whether by design or circumstance; she isn’t sure she wants to inspect too much, afraid that she might just discover it’s all an elaborate, intentional invention—but this… This is a way she can wrest some of it back. It feels so small, almost inconsequential, but she feels a small bubble of satisfaction when she looks into her instructor’s eyes.

“Are you feeling ill?” If there’s one thing Eleanor has learned, it’s that demons—the more patronizing ones who pretend it’s sympathy that they offer her, at least—care about her human frailty at the strangest of moments. Condescending sympathy drips from the demon’s lips and makes Eleanor double down on her accidental declaration.

“No. I mean that I won’t be back. I quit.” She smiles this time, and it isn’t meant to be disarming at all. Her lips are sharp in the way her nonexistent claws never will be as she bows, nowhere near as low as her instructor tells her that her position demands. “You can tell Barbatos whatever it is you need to,” she throws over her shoulder, and is rewarded with an answer to the question she hadn’t dared to ask before when her instructor’s lips tense into a thin line. It’s no real surprise to her that the order came from the butler and not the prince himself. Diavolo doesn’t seem the type to care  _ too _ much whether or not she makes a fool of herself in front of an audience. Not when there are parties to host or pillow fights to have or any number of inane little excursions to go on. 

Her little victories, she muses as she skips from the room, are piling up.  _ About time. _ She feels free and light, full of hope. Perhaps even good enough to be present at dinner, to not retreat deep into her own thoughts. It’s wrong to look forward to watching Belphegor struggle. She  _ knows _ it’s wrong. 

But it feels like it might be justice all the same. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ōdī et amō comes from Catullus 85, an otherwise unnamed poem by, you guessed it, Catullus. I used to have to translate these buggers in Latin class. 
> 
> The full, translated (not by me) poem is as follows:  
> I hate and I love. Why I do this, perhaps you ask.  
> I know not, but I feel it happening and I am tortured.


	66. Most Desired

Leviathan does not question her strange new mood, but he’s happy to see that she’s actually smiling again. 

“You know, there are a lot of strange stories about his house,” he tells her as they sit in his room, catching up on one of the shows she’s missed recently. Normally, he wouldn’t talk through it; _he must have already seen this episode,_ she decides. “Apparently, if you write down the thing you want more than anything else on a piece of paper, and then you leave that paper next to a fish tank containing a goldfish, then you’ll get whatever it is you wanted!”

“Is that so?” She asks, tearing her attention away from the screen to look at him. Eleanor wonders if he’s aware of just how close he is and then decides he can’t be; she’s always been the one to initiate any sort of physical contact, no matter how casual. _Just what brought this on?_

“It just so happens that I’ve got a goldfish here in my room. Henry’s tank is right over there, so, um…” he pauses. The blue, watery light in his room always makes it hard to tell when he blushes, but Eleanor thinks that he might be right now. “So if you want to use it, feel free…”

She opens her mouth and is about to ask him what is on his mind—she remembers Mammon asking something similar in nature and wonders if there’s some sort of gift-giving Devildom holiday approaching—when there’s a knock at Leviathan’s door. Leviathan’s expectant gaze flickers from her to his door and turns into something more akin to a pout.

“Levi! You’re on dinner duty tonight,” Belphegor says, loud enough to carry his voice into the room through the closed door. It’s a reminder that he’s still there and she grits her teeth, not enjoying the interruption. Leviathan grumbles something as he stands up and Eleanor follows quickly after him. 

“Fine,” he says as he opens his bedroom door and strides out, brushing by his brother. Whatever he’d been expecting from Eleanor, he’s clearly disappointed to not have gotten. But he pauses before he steps too far away from Eleanor, cautious eyes raking over her and how she glares at Belphegor. She catches Leviathan’s observing gaze and her glare softens immediately.

“I’m fine,” she tells him, answering the question he doesn’t want to ask—not while his brother is right there. This time, she actually means it; she has some sort of control over Belphegor, regardless of any physical abilities. She’s confident that he won’t actually hurt her, not if he thinks he has any chance whatsoever of proving her wrong about his capacity to love and her ability to receive it. Leviathan nods once, taking her at her word.

And then they’re alone. 

She’s not prepared for how alien it feels to be alone with Belphegor with nobody else at her side. Stranger still is that she doesn’t feel her familiar fear kicking in—at least, nowhere near as strong as she’d always felt it before. She doubts she’ll ever be fully comfortable in his presence. _Not that I have to be in his presence forever,_ she comforts herself with the reminder that as with anything else, her time in the Devildom has an expiration date.

“I’m going to the library,” she tells him without actually looking at him; it’s better to keep things as a vague sort of announcement. _You can follow if you want,_ is the implicit invitation. _But don’t expect me to hold your hand._

He follows her. Of course he does. He’s her own personal demonic shadow, only now he feels confident enough to not mask his presence. She’s grateful to see that Satan is also in the library—she’d sort of been counting on it, if she were being honest with herself. Belphegor sits in one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace and pulls a deck of cards out of his pocket. The deck is familiar; Eleanor is startled at the lick of anger they inspire. 

“Blackjack?” Belphegor asks, wiggling the deck towards her.

“Thought you were more into solitaire,” she tells him as she turns away, forcing herself to look at the books lined up neatly on the shelves. Satan watches her movements with interest, and she suddenly feels like a bug under glass, like she’s something to be observed. Perhaps she should be used to it by now. 

“Deal out the cards,” she says, deciding to play on a whim. Eleanor beats him twice in a row before he throws his cards down onto the table in defeat, but it doesn’t actually feel like success. Instead, she gets the distinct feeling that he’s pulling whatever punches he can, not playing to his full aptitude. 

“Are all humans this good at cards, or is it just you, Eleanor?” Belphegor leans back and props his arms up behind his head, and _now_ she knows his game. The look she shoots him as she shuffles the deck speaks for her. _If you think you can butter me up through card games, you’re wrong._

“You’re simply dripping with confidence, aren’t you? Irritating. One more round,” he demands, and she drops the deck onto the table, her patience for him just about used up for the day. 

“You’re only going to end up losing again,” Satan says, affecting boredom as he flips a page in his book. He’s been watching them the whole time, carefully, listening for any signs of distress from the human. She’s grateful that he’s come to her rescue.

“Nobody asked you for your opinion, Satan,” is Belphegor’s hot retort. “I thought you were busy reading your book. Or are you _pretending?_ Is that book all for show?”

“My eyes and mind are focused on reading. But my ears are listening to your conversation with Eleanor.” Satan still doesn’t look up from his page, a calculated move designed to get under his brother’s skin, something he normally would have saved for Lucifer. 

“Well, you certainly are clever, I’ll give you that. I’m impressed you can focus on that all at once.” Eleanor doesn’t have to look up to see that Belphegor is sneering at Satan; she wants nothing more than to kick out and hit his shins. Instead, she patiently slides the deck of cards back into their sleeve. 

“Why don’t you take a page from her and try being more clever yourself? At least that way you can win something as simple as a game of cards.”

Eleanor stiffens and lets the deck slip from her fingers. It seems she’s not the only one issuing ultimatums or challenges today; she wonders what it is, exactly, Satan is trying to accomplish, what his words actually _mean._ She doubts they’ve had time to talk in between classes and now. 

“You can keep your pages to yourself. I’ll win either way.”

Eleanor’s lips curl into a distasteful grimace at Belphegor’s words. _You won’t_ , she promises silently, picking her feet up to tuck under her lap. Normally, she would find a reason to escape the tensions rampant in the room, but they’re related to her, in a way, and she almost wants to see the outcome. Besides, running only ever makes her tired. 

It’s this scene that Lucifer walks into: his brother glaring at each other as if they might like to rip out each other’s throats, the human curled in on herself feigning boredom in the corner seat. 

“Satan, perfect timing,” Lucifer says. “I wanted to speak with you about Diavolo’s party.” This breaks the spell over the other two demons in the room. Satan relaxes, but Belphegor remains tense in Lucifer’s presence. 

“Sure. You’re going to be there too, right, Eleanor?” At her name on Satan’s lips, Eleanor looks over to find all three demons focused on her. It’s as unnerving as it always is, but she’s not quite so uncomfortable with it anymore. She nods once, wondering if she should be. 

“I was just headed to the kitchen to get a drink. Lucifer, is it alright if we talk about this on the way?” The kitchen isn’t far away. She knows that if she were to scream, they’d be back in the library within seconds. 

“... Sure,” Lucifer says as he inclines his head in a curt nod. Eleanor turns away from him, not sure how to read the expression he wears. The fire is warm at her side and makes for a more satisfying thing to look at. _Not that Lucifer isn’t satisfying to look at, but_ —

She startles, narrowing her eyes at the flames as if they’d deposited the thought in her head all by themselves.

_Where did that come from?_

Eleanor shakes her head as if to jostle the thought loose. They’re already gone when she glances back, leaving her alone with Belphegor. She tries not to follow her immediate reaction, to tense up as soon as she realizes that it’s just her and the demon. Her success is only marginal. 

“Something strange is going on with him,” Belphegor says with a deep frown. He looks to Eleanor like she might deign to speak to him. “Satan, I mean. The Satan _I_ knew wasn’t nearly so good-natured. He had more of an edge to him.” This, at least, makes Eleanor look hard at Belphegor. He’s known his brother longer than she has, of course, but… She can’t imagine the same demon who nursed a newborn kitten with her having much of an _edge._ And then she remembers the curling horns, gleaming and sharp as just the edge of his fury sent things flying around his room. Eleanor frowns and looks down at her hands. 

“He doesn’t show it on the surface, but deep down, it was like he was always irritated. _Especially_ when it came to Lucifer. Whatever Lucifer was for, Satan was against. He made that very clear… but now it’s like he’s calmed down completely—as agreeable as can be. That's not the Avatar of Wrath I know.” He looks at her like it’s her fault, the change she wrought in only a few months evident to anyone who would care to look. She thinks back to the breathing exercises he walked her through and tries to remember to hold her breath, to breathe out until she thinks she can’t anymore. She tries it now.

“Do you know something I don’t? Something that would explain this?” _Of course I do, stupid,_ her eyes say when she looks back up at him. 

“How badly you wanna know?” Her mettle is rewarded when his face goes almost slack, as if he has to piece together what she’s just told him. It’s her little way of testing the waters; he’d been harmless enough when someone else was in the room. Now, with them just a room or two away, she feels confident enough to push that further.

“You know, some people would tell you that it’s not wise to take that sort of attitude with a demon.” He smiles, but she can’t find any mirth in his tone. “Take… _this!”_

And then he moves. 

During the second half of her first day of freshman orientation, the counselors split them into groups, largely delineated by presenting gender. The boys got lessons on consent—which embarrassed most of them, as if they were all still in high school—and the girls got crash course self defense lessons. At the time, she thought it was pretty sexist; they should _all_ have gotten both lessons. Danger comes in many forms, after all. In protest, she went along with it so that she didn’t cause a stir, but did little more than tuck the paltry training deep down in her memory banks. 

Spurred on by the dream, where he pushed her to the ground and held her there, it comes roaring back to life.

Her arms fly up to protect her face, forearms creating a shield to protect from any strikes. It’s too late to try to stand—she blames that on tucking her legs under her, which she belatedly realizes is an incredibly foolhardy move. 

She kicks a leg out, careful not to lock her knee.

It connects squarely with his chest. 

Her other leg follows soon after, crashing against his jaw and snapping his head back. 

He staggers back, but she’s not naive enough to think that she’s actually winded him. Not with her human strength against his demon sturdiness. But she takes the momentary reprieve to claw her way over the back of the chair and pick up the biggest, hardest book she can find, raising it beside her head as if there’s a bug she wants to squash.

“What is your problem?” He grinds out, hands pressed against where she kicked him. But he doesn’t move towards her again, only watches her and her improvised weapon warily. He knows from this morning how good her aim can be. 

“Don’t _ever_ try to touch me again,” she snarls, trying to make herself seem as fierce as possible. It’s something of a futile effort, she knows. There’s only so cutthroat a person can pretend to be while looking like a librarian out for late fees. 

“Duly noted,” Belphegor replies drily, easing himself back into the seat he abandoned only moments before. “I was only going to tickle you.”

“Do I look like I fucking care?” She raises the book higher, glad that the furniture between them hides how badly her legs are trembling. 

“... Fine,” he finally huffs, irritated that she keeps putting up resistance, that she keeps fighting back. She hadn’t actually hurt him with her kicks—the idea is laughable—but she has managed to surprise him. Asmodeus always made seduction look so easy; he’s not pleased to discover that this is another thing he’ll have to put work in towards. “So… What happened?”

The look she shoots him he swears he’s seen before on Satan’s face. For a human, she sure seems to have a demon’s temper—at least when it comes to him.

“Magic book. Switched bodies. Forced reconciliation.” She holds up a finger in her free hand for each word she says, starting over rather than let go of the book she’s holding. “If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask them yourself.”

There’s a careful silence as he chooses his next words, unsure if he wants to rattle her or try to persuade her that he means no physical harm to her. 

“You seem to have a… calming effect on my brothers. On me.” He knows he’s chosen incorrectly when she snorts and grips the hard bindings of the book harder. 

“Fuck you,” she spits, her loathing of him making her braver and more volatile. “I’m not here to fix you. Or your brothers,” she adds as an afterthought. She’s worth more than that, she knows. The realization hits her with sudden clarity, like a lightning bolt down from the heavens. She’s worth more than what she offers to other people, even if she’s the only one who knows that. Even if she spends most of her life alone, like he’d taunted.

She was right then, too; it doesn’t matter. 

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. 

* * *

She’s too jumpy and wired to eat much at dinner, so it’s very little surprise that she’s hungry a few hours later. Right when Beelzebub makes his usual raid. She doesn’t want to keep avoiding him, to keep skirting any issues that they might have. The apologies and assurances she gave him before were… halfhearted, at best. She meant them at the time; lying isn’t something she feels good about, especially not when it’s directed at someone she cares for.

And she’s missed him. She’s grown up enough to admit it.

So she sidles into the kitchen and tries not to look too hard at the monstrosity he’s creating out of whatever leftovers he can find while she tries not to make too much noise. She’s not usually one to judge what someone else likes to eat, but she cannot for the life of her imagine that fried bat wings taste good covered in chocolate shavings.

She wonders, though, if assaulting his brother—twice, even if it was for very good reason—damaged whatever their relationship is. Was. _Ugh. I’ll just play it by ear,_ she decides, slamming a cupboard door shut a little louder than she needs to. He looks up and is surprised to see her for a moment before he smiles, the wide grin she’s grown so accustomed to seeing. It’s a weight off her shoulders.

“Something on your mind?” He asks. _Yes,_ she thinks. _A whole shit ton._ But she doesn’t want to bring it up with him because she only wants light things right now. There’s time enough for heavy conversations. Later.

“Yeah. Levi said something about leaving wishes beside fishtanks to make them come true. Do you happen to know anything about that? Seems like really weird magic to me.” Whether it’s a holiday or not, she’d prefer to know what’s going on; she’d hate to miss demon Christmas, or whatever it is they’d call it. _Certainly not Christmas,_ she thinks, the thought striking her as ludicrous. _But lots of cultures have winter festivals._

Beelzebub considers her question, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

“Well, there is a rumor like that,” he concedes. “But the version I heard was a little different. Apparently, if you write down the thing you want more than anything else on a piece of paper and leave it in the fridge, that wish will be answered.”

She can’t help it. She laughs, holding her mouth behind her hand. It isn’t _him_ she finds so funny, but the idea of wish-granting, note-reading refrigerators manages to send her over the edge. Whatever tension she’d been feeling dissipates. 

“Okay.” She tries to force her face back into a straight expression and fails miserably. “But really—is there a holiday coming up? Is Diavolo’s birthday considered a holiday?”

“... No,” Beelzebub says, but she can tell by the way he rubs the back of his neck there’s something he’s holding back. “Anyway, that’s how the story _really_ goes—from what I’ve heard, anyway.”

They sit and chat until Beelzebub gets hungry again—which doesn’t take all that long, considering the sin he’s patron of—and Eleanor heads back to her room. She does not leave a note in the fridge.

* * *

Morning brings a new ambush.

Asmodeus is quick to grab her while she’s checking her phone for messages from her study group—they’re doing well, but are getting bored with the material; she’s not sure how much longer the group will survive. He crushes her face to his chest, wrapping her in a tight hug that takes her by surprise.

“What do you think of the cologne I’m wearing today?”

She coughs in reply, senses overtaken entirely by him. But, yes, she supposes his cologne is nice. Warm, sort of like musky honey. Earthy. The only thing she can think to compare it to is amber, almost like the color of his eyes.

“It suits you,” she tells him, her voice muffled by his jacket. Finally, he lets her go and she can take a breath that isn’t filled entirely with him. For the rest of the day, she knows she’s likely to smell him; a quick inspection of her hair confirms that. 

“You don’t like it?” Asmodeus pouts, and Eleanor looks up at him, perplexed.

“I do,” she tells him, but her voice lilts up at the end as if she’s asking a question. _What’s gotten into all of them?_ It has to be something about Diavolo’s birthday, she’s certain. But she can’t figure out _why_ they’d care what she has to think about anything. _Unless they think Diavolo and I have similar tastes…?_ She discounts that thought almost as soon as she has it; she and the demon prince have very little in common. Satan interrupts her thoughts with a new question about favorite book genres, and the shift in her train of thought almost dazes her.

“... It depends on the genre, I guess? I haven’t had much time to read anything that isn’t a textbook in the past couple of years, though…”

This answer makes Satan frown, and she almost throws her hands up in the air in exasperation. _What kind of answer does he want?_ Whatever game they're playing, she’s already tired of it. _I’ll let you guys know what I want as soon as I figure that out myself,_ she does not say. At least with Satan and Asmodeus, she can put together enough context clues to figure out that it’s a physical item they have in mind. 

“Here we go again,” Belphegor sighs, as if _he’s_ the one being drowned in attention. She wonders if, like a petulant child, he’s jealous of the focus being pulled from him. _Tough fucking shit,_ she wants to tell him. _Too bad._

* * *

Lucifer has her stick closely to him at the Academy, and even though she racks her mind for reasons why and comes up nearly empty. He still hasn’t said a word about her abandoning her lessons. Neither have Diavolo or Barbatos, for that matter, and she wishes she knew what that means. _Do they not care?_ In some ways, that awakens her anger; if everything was so inconsequential, then why even have her start in the first place?

Diavolo, at least, seems earnest in his attempts, whatever they may be. Barbatos and Lucifer are the ones that give her trouble; they both seem loyal to their prince—to a fault, Eleanor thinks but would never admit—but she can’t tell if they share his same cavalier attitude towards her and her tantrum. Instead of the retaliation she half expected—half _wanted_ , in a way, because then at least she could tell herself that she felt _respected_ , not like a coddled thing—she gets honeyed words and kid gloves. It’s infuriating. 

So is Belphegor’s new attitude. She doesn’t believe it for a moment, doesn’t trust his new quietude or the way he acts ridiculously tame. Idly, she wonders if they’ve turned her into a paranoid thing, jumping at shadows; it’s then that she has to remind herself that no. She’s right. _Something_ is going on

“Eleanor, I have to submit a report to Diavolo, and I was wondering if you could help me with it. Tell me, what’s the one item in the Devildom that you like the most? What tickles your fancy?”

She almost blows a fuse when Lucifer asks her after a ridiculously short student council meeting. Almost all of the other officers have already cleared out ( _nepotism as its finest,_ Eleanor always thinks; aside from herself and Diavolo—and Barbatos by extension—not a single officer is outside of the demonic family she’s found herself in).

“What is _going on?_ ” She grinds out, tired of the games. It feels strange to have all of the attention back on her so suddenly, almost like it was before Well, before. She doesn’t want to trail after that thought.

Bizarrely, Belphegor is her savior.

“Really, Lucifer? I don’t remember Diavolo asking for a report like that.” 

She _almost_ turns to thank him before she remembers who he is.

Lucifer glares daggers at the youngest of his brothers before he turns back to Eleanor. 

“Diavolo’s birthday celebration is coming up. I was hoping that you might accompany me to select a gift.” Eleanor almost sags in relief at his words because _this_ is what she can handle. Maybe demons just aren’t used to giving gifts. Maybe it’s more of a human thing, to have birthday presents, and that’s why they’ve been asking her such silly little things.

“I don’t really know what Diavolo likes,” she cautions Lucifer. It’s not something that she has to elaborate on; if anyone should be an expert on the demon prince, it’s Lucifer himself. “But I can help, sure.” She doesn’t know how to read the look he gives her. 

And that is how she finds herself strolling through the quiet shopping district with Lucifer, wandering in and out of shops she’s never thought to care about before. Belphegor, her ever-present shadow, is there. _Of course._ Like he’s afraid to leave her alone with one of his brothers. As if _they_ pose the biggest threat to her, between them and him. She grits her teeth whenever she catches him out of the corner of her eye or he strays too close, but otherwise ignores him. Like he isn't even there. He hasn’t tried to get too close to her after the incident in the library.

She wonders if she’s finally, _finally_ kicked some sense into him. 

“Oh,” she picks up a brooch from its velvety seat, holding it up to Lucifer for his inspection. It’s a shimmering jewel, black at first glance but glimmering with all of the iridescence of an oil slick. “This is pretty. You two would match.”

He takes the brooch from her hand and his eyes ask the question for him. Eleanor rolls her eyes and smiles at him, pointing at his throat.

“When you go all demon-y. You wear a jewel like this; so if you got this for him, then you two would. You know. Match.” It sounds silly when she has to explain it to him, and she can tell by the way his lips twitch that he is barely holding back laughter at her expense. 

“How very astute. We _would_ ,” he looks at her and smiles again. “Match.” She’s seen him smile before. Not as often as some of his brothers, of course, but it’s not necessarily a rare event. Uncommon, maybe. To be relished when it _does_ happen, to be sure. But not so infrequent that her heart should be hammering in her chest the way it is. 

“You don’t have to make fun of me; I think it’s cute.”

“Hm,” is all he offers her before she gives up, embarrassed by his almost coy manner. _Weird, weird, weird,_ she thinks, wondering if he’s managed to switch bodies with someone else. Somehow. For some reason. 

“I’m gonna to go to a different store to find gift wrap,” she mutters, stalking away from him as she tries to ignore the insistent reminder that she’s _seen_ that expression before. Only it wasn’t on his face because they were in London, and that means he was in Satan’s body, and—

 _I’m going to go insane,_ she decides. _These damn demons are going to drive me insane. If I haven’t been already._ The shop’s little bell tinkles as she flees the area.

“I don’t have the patience for you right now,” she snaps. It’s a testament to how distracted by the tempest her emotions have become that she’s even that polite to Belphegor. He only sighs in response, as if she’s meant to care about his emotional wellbeing. 

“Seems pretty pointless getting a prince a gift,” he points out. “He can just buy whatever he wants, and whatever he _can’t_ buy, Barbatos can get for him.”

Eleanor shoots him a poisonous glare. “It’s the thought that counts.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Belphegor looks out into the distance and then furrows his brows. “Is that… Solomon?” As if drawn by the utterance of his name, the sorcerer looks up from his phone and breaks into a light smile. 

“Belphie and Eleanor,” Solomon says, looking at each in turn. He notes their body language, the way Eleanor leans as far away from Belphegor as possible. “How do I keep finding myself running into people like this?” Eleanor is immediately grateful for the change in topic he’s offered her.

“Who else have you seen?”

“Asmodeus, over that way,” Solomon points towards some of the clothing stores Eleanor knows the demon likes to frequent. “You wouldn’t believe it. He came out of Majolish carrying a truly ridiculous amount of stuff; he had so many shopping bags and boxes that I’m not sure he would see in front of him.”

“Asmo always _has_ liked to shop. Nothing new about that,” Belphegor says, reminding Eleanor of his presence. “Probably went on a shopping spree, picking up clothes and jewelry and stuff. Anything he thought would accentuate his already-stunning beauty.” Sarcasm drips from his words. An uncomfortable silence falls between the three of them.

“So, what are you two up to?” Solomon throws Eleanor another lifeline, and he goes up marginally in her esteem once again. She can’t help the smile that spreads across her face. “You don’t seem like you’re out here looking for clothes or jewelry.” She’s about to explain that she’s with _Lucifer,_ actually, and Belphegor’s presence is merely coincidental. 

“We’re on a date,” Belphegor interrupts, his tone clipped and tense. He doesn’t like the way Solomon interacts with Eleanor, or the way she seems far more at ease with the sorcerer than he finds reasonable. 

“We most emphatically _are not,_ ” Eleanor corrects hotly, her smile dying as soon as Belphegor speaks. 

“It doesn’t seem like a date to me, personally,” Solomon says, nodding his head in Eleanor’s direction. Belphegor narrows his eyes just a little more. “But I guess you two have gotten close. Which reminds me, Belphie… Are you planning on making a pact with Eleanor?”

“No,” Eleanor interrupts. She doesn’t _want_ a pact with Belphegor, but neither of the people in front of her seem to care. Belphegor hums as his eyes slide over to her, considering the sorcerer’s question. 

“A pact with Eleanor?”

“I’d like to make a pact with you myself, Belphie,” Solomon smiles at the demon, pretending he’s unaware of how much it irritates Belphegor. “What do you say?”

“Not interested,” is the immediate response. Eleanor snorts and tries to sneak away, but Solomon’s gaze pins her where she is. 

“You’re not even going to consider it?” Solomon feigns at being offended.

“What else do you expect? Having to follow someone else’s orders would be annoying. I’d like to enjoy my freedom for a while…”

Not for the first time, Eleanor wonders if Asmodeus told Solomon anything about what really happened, or how Belphegor’s sudden appearance was explained away. The angels haven’t said anything about it, either. Instead of asking, she pulls out her D.D.D. and replies to a few messages, ignorant of the way Belphegor’s eyes trace over her profile.

“I noticed you glancing over at Eleanor as you said that, checking for a reaction. Why might that be?”

Belphegor scowls at Solomon, tearing his eyes away from the other human. Eleanor ignores the both of them, not wanting to participate in whatever joke Solomon is attempting. 

“No reason,” Belphegor says, keeping his tone casual. “And I wasn’t checking for anything. Are you sure that you didn’t imagine that? _Anyway,_ if you don’t need anything, we’ll be leaving now. We’re kind of busy.” He tries to sling an arm around Eleanor, only for her to shuffle away and look at him like she’d like to pull his intestines out through his nose. 

“I’m waiting for Lucifer,” she informs him coolly. “You can go on ahead, though.” Solomon coughs politely to break some of the tension. 

“Well, if you change your mind about the pact, let me know, Belphie. I’m always open to the idea.” The smile Solomon wears tells them all that he doesn’t actually expect Belphegor’s mind to change. Eleanor cranes her neck to the shop she’d exited, looking for Lucifer. If he doesn’t show up within the next few moments, she’s decided to go and look for him again. 

“I won’t be changing my mind, so you can go ahead and forget about it.” Belphegor almost just grabs Eleanor by her wrist to drag her away from the interloping sorcerer, away from the distractions that aren’t himself. But she drifts further from him even as he considers it, her attention focused wholly on the approaching form of his brother. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess a guilty pleasure of mine is taking dialogue from the game and totally twisting the meaning of it, thumbing my nose at all context provided. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	67. raison d'être

“Um, I think… White might look nice?” She’s not entirely sure how she found herself here, standing in Asmodeus’s room with her arms full of garments she’s not really had a chance to examine too closely. White does suit the demon, at least, and she hopes he’ll finally agree that she’s made the right choice. It makes him look almost as angelic as she’s sure he used to be. Belphegor is lounging in the chair behind them, as if he’s been forced to tag along.

The reminder if his presence is unwelcome, but with so many distractions around her all of the time, she doesn't have any extra energy to devote to it. Perhaps, she finds herself conceding, that's the entire point of everything.  _ Just a few more months,  _ she tells herself as her gaze accidentally skims over Belphegor again.  _ Just a few more months, and then I'll be out. And I won't have to… _ she doesn't know how to finish the thought. See them all again? Think about it? 

Dying and being revived isn't something that she can forget about so easily, she knows. Coming to terms with it, perhaps—but not forgetting. And as for blocking all of the demons out of her life…

She wonders if what she told Simeon, in her panicked haze, is the truth.  _ Mammon owed Levi money for a couple of centuries, and Levi never forgot, _ Eleanor reminds herself.  _ And Lucifer can travel between the realms at whim. _

Asmodeus holds two white articles of clothing up in front of him, catching her between them in his gaze. 

“White doesn’t really stand out,” Belphegor says from where he’s draped over the chair in Asmodeus’s room. “But it doesn’t really offend, either.” When Asmodeus isn’t looking, Eleanor jabs her middle finger at the lounging demon, but otherwise continues to ignore his presence. Asmodeus considers the options in his hands before finally settling on one, tossing the reject to the side as he pulls the others out of Eleanor’s arms. 

“Okay then, that settles it! We’ve found our outfit! Eleanor, darling, make sure you wear this on the day of the party, all right? Don’t forget!” He drops it into her still-outstretched arms and then takes the opportunity to tap the end of her nose with one of his elegant fingers. Eleanor wrinkles her nose in response.

“I thought we were picking  _ your _ clothes, Asmo,” she tells him, looking down at what he’s given her. She’s gotten used to being Asmodeus’s doll—something to dress up and coo over and treat like porcelain—so she’s not sure why she hadn’t suspected it from the beginning.  _ And at least this time, _ she thinks as she runs her hands over the smooth fabric,  _ I kind of got to choose it myself. _

“Is that what you thought? As if Asmo’d ever be satisfied with an outfit like this. It’s not nearly bombastic enough.” Asmodeus ignores his brother as much as Eleanor does.

“It’s perfect for you, Eleanor. Ugh, I could just gobble you up!” Asmodeus leans closer to her as if he might actually do just that, and Eleanor smiles up at him brightly.

“I like it. Thank you, Asmo,” she says. Eleanor means it, of course, but Belphegor’s petulant glare at being ignored is something she likes, too. There’s no need to entertain his attempts to cut her or his brothers down with his grumpy commentary, she knows. Less still for her to care one whit that he thinks white is milquetoast. 

He hasn’t mentioned anything about gifts ( _ thank God, _ she thinks because she’s not sure she cares to know what his idea of a good gift is) for Diavolo. All she is sure of is that he’d see her deigning to help him as some sort of bonding exercise, some sort of sign that she’s forgiven him. And she knows that once he gets that notion into his head, she’ll never get him to dispel it; he latches onto things with a frightening tenacity.  _ Like a leech, _ she thinks with a grim twist of her lips.  _ Or a strangling vine. _ His near-constant presence is starting to affect her relationships with most of his brothers, which is, no doubt, an intended consequence. Too bad for him is that it only makes her want to cling to them tighter. 

“I _ love _ how you’re so honest like that. It turns me on,” Asmodeus says as if he’s commenting on the weather. For him, she concedes, it probably is. In response, she reaches out to squeeze his hand; and then, knowing that Belphegor wouldn’t know the meaning behind the movement, she reaches out to tug on the scarf around Asmodeus’s shoulders.

“Does it?” Asmodeus’s eyes light up at her words.

“Ooh, you—”

“We’re done here, right?” Belphegor snaps, interrupting whatever Asmodeus was about to say. “Let’s  _ go. _ ” But Belphegor doesn’t reach out for her, which is a pleasant surprise. 

“Aww. I was hoping to get an impromptu fashion show,” Asmodeus pouts, gesturing towards all of the clothes scattered around them. “But I suppose you’re right. Lord Diavolo is coming for tea today!”

This is news to Eleanor, and based on the way Belphegor reacts—a small frown, almost imperceptible tightening of his eyes—it’s a surprise to him too. Still, she supposes that she may as well be grateful for it; if nothing else, it’s an opportunity to be in a crowded place. The more people she has around her, the safer she feels. There has to be a reason for it, too; Diavolo might be the sort to want to drop by just because, but Barbatos would likely never allow it unless there was also another motive.

_ Maybe the lessons thing, _ she thinks.  _ Kind of weird that they’d want to talk about it over tea, though. _

* * *

It feels almost like a dream, the veneer of unreality painted thick over the entire room. Enough that she barely flinches when most of the brothers trip over themselves to offer her one thing or another, clamor to sit nearer to her than can be comfortable for any of them. She accepts a muffin with one hand and a slice of cake in another, staring numbly down at both of them. The feeling that there’s some sort of trick—something looming in the near distance that she doesn’t know enough about to prepare for. 

“A special mandragora blend,” Barbatos tells her as he sets a teacup down on the table in front of him. It doesn’t even clatter against the ornate saucer beneath it. With her hands full, she can’t pick it up;  _ probably for the best, _ she thinks as she eyes the dark liquid.  _ I wonder if they know. _ Asmodeus drops some sugar into it as he says something about it being bitter. 

“Don’t snuggle up like that, Asmo,” Belphegor snaps, reaching out to nudge his brother away. The slice of cake on her plate wobbles as both of the demons bump into her. “You’re too close.  _ I’m  _ sitting next to her, so don’t you butt in.”

She wonders, briefly, if he might speak so much with a muffin crammed in his mouth. 

“You can have one side; I can have the other,” Asmodeus says, shoving lightly back at Belphegor. “Can’t you see that I love her so much I can’t help it?” Eleanor would prefer that he not offer parts of her up to other people, his quasi-love confession almost lost to her under the new set of squabbles it produces. Beelzebub and Leviathan even join in, while Satan sits off to the side sighing as if he’s above it all.  _ Maybe he is, _ she thinks as she watches him sip at the tea provided. 

“Y’know what? You’re  _ all _ too close! Get away,” Mammon orders his younger brothers, swatting at them like they’re little more than minor annoyances. All of the sudden movements jostle her even more; the cake slice sitting on its little plate finally topples over and falls against the table, sneaking icing against the wood grain. 

“All of you, that’s enough,” Lucifer snaps. His brothers pause, but not in enough time to keep her untouched teacup from meeting a grisly fate on the ground between her feet. The poisonous tea splashes against the rug and the hem of her pants.  _ At least now I won’t have to explain why I can’t drink it, _ she thinks, the thought strangely comforting. 

“You’re making Eleanor uncomfortable,” Lucifer finishes, and she shoots him a look of gratitude. There’s a beat of silence, and then almost all at once his brothers clamor to disagree. The spilled, rapidly cooling tea is all but forgotten on the ground at her feet. Diavolo, at least, finds it amusing, his laughter rising above the squabbling brothers.

“There must have been so many things you’ve all wanted to do for Lilith over the years,” the demon prince says, and the pit in Eleanor’s stomach solidifies. The hand on her shoulder—she doesn’t know whose it is, doesn’t care—feels heavier than it did just a moment ago. She puts the muffin back down on the table beside her fallen cake and brushes its crumbs off of her fingertips, cold dread winding its way through her.  _ Surely not, _ she thinks, throat tight.  _ They don’t think of me as a replacement, right? That would be… _ She allows herself to shudder a little bit.

“Is something the matter, Eleanor?” Barbatos asks, and she can’t tell if he’s genuinely concerned or goading her anxiety. There’s no way for her to tell; his affect is just as flat and inexpressive as ever, a cool mirror to project upon. 

“No,” she tells him, her voice too tight.

“Here,” he says, leaning forward for the teapot. “Have another cup of tea.”

“Oh, let  _ me _ pour it,” Asmodeus says, reaching out for a spare teacup and the pot at the same time. Belphegor reaches out faster, though.

“Oh no you don’t. I’m pouring it,” he announces, and Eleanor wonders if urging a competition between the two brothers was the wisest course of action. Her intentions had been… somewhat pure, at least. She hoped that Belphegor would leave her alone if he thought she was connected to Asmodeus, but that little plan has done little more than crash and burn so far. 

“You’re all hopeless,” Lucifer tells his brothers, voice dripping with condescension. Eleanor can feel herself spiraling, lower and lower and lower until all she can think of is Lilith, of how the ex-angel twisted Eleanor’s life around to suit her whims. Of how there’s a scar across her stomach and poisonous tea sitting in front of her and all of it barely seems to matter at all to anybody but her. 

“I told you, didn’t I Lucifer? That encouraging exchange between humans, angels, and demons would end up being advantageous to all of us.” Diavolo’s words—and the laughter that accompanies them, the laughter that she usually thinks of as so warm—snap her out of her thoughts.  _ No, _ she thinks, struggling to take a deep, even breath.  _ No, no, I can’t let this happen. They need to stay out of the human world. _

It would be a disaster. It’s one of the only things she’s absolutely sure of. The only reason she’s made it so far is because she’s been shaped to do so since she was young, moulded by Lilith’s unseen hands. These are the thoughts that keep her up late at night when she should be sleeping, when she can’t think of anything but soft white feathers and harsh silver blades. When the still-healing nerve endings just below her ribcage send out little arcs of pain in between the numbness. 

But other humans aren’t like her, and Eleanor thinks that is a blessing.

For them.

“Mandragora is poison,” she says instead of voicing her tumultuous thoughts, hoping that somehow they can read her mind and that she won’t have to break her own heart with blatant explanations. Nine sets of eyes turn to look at her, perhaps because it’s one of the first things she’s said the whole time. “To humans, I mean.” She settles on staring at Barbatos, whose impassive expression doesn’t change at all.

“And I quit the etiquette lessons, but you probably already knew that.” Yawning silence answers her announcement, and she wishes that the tea in her new cup wasn’t deadly so that she could take a sip of it. Anything to help break the tension. 

“We thought it might make you feel more comfortable in social settings,” Diavolo explains, and even though she’s expecting him to tell an untruth, she can’t tell if it is or not. “We were only trying to help.” And  _ that _ , she’s certain, is a lie. While she doubts that the demon prince actively wants harm to come to her, she doesn’t think he’s actually spent much time thinking of her at all. After all, why should he? There’s an entire kingdom to run, a program to nurture to success. The fact that she’s there at all is incidental, that she’s wormed her way into his court little more than coincidence. 

“Please don’t,” she tells him because she has little left to lose, a verbal equivalent to leaping from a balcony. She’s tired of walking on eggshells, waiting for some buried landmine to go off. “If I ever am that uncomfortable, I’ll…”  _ tell someone, _ she almost says. “Figure it out.”

“Okay!” The demon prince is smiling widely at her. She’s safe, at least from him. Lucifer is another matter; his glinting red eyes bore into her as she politely ignores them. There will be hell to pay for speaking so plainly to his lord, she knows. Barbatos likely thinks the same, and she avoids his gaze as much as she does Lucifer’s.  _ I’ll apologize to him later, _ she thinks, daring to take a peek at him.

But he’s given up on looking at her, choosing to stare at the teacup instead. 

Barbatos unexpectedly saves her by changing the topic of conversation to Diavolo’s upcoming party. She allows herself to consider it a down payment for serving her toxic tea and slips beneath the waves of the dialogue that doesn’t include her. Mammon is warned against trying to steal something—she knows that he’s not even listening—and Leviathan is told that he has to at least make an appearance. 

And then…

That’s it. Everyone wanders away at some point, and Eleanor finds herself more or less alone in the room, floating alone in her thoughts. Up and down and down and up—she’s tried pretending that she has a handle on what she’s feeling, on all of the little concerns that needle her, but she knows that she doesn’t. For the first time in a very, very long time, she allows herself to admit that she has no purpose, no goal to strive forward.  _ Survive the year _ seems a little too esoteric, a little too fleeting.  _ Free Belphegor and reunite their family _ was a disaster, one that is still unfolding in front of her. And her goal of graduating college seems to be slipping further and further away.

_ Keep the Devildom out of the human world, _ then, seems like an appropriate new windmill for her to tilt at. Futile, perhaps, for how short-lived she is and for how long-lived she knows Diavolo’s wish so far has been. But, no,  _ he wants peace _ , Eleanor reminds herself as she scrapes some of the dried icing off of the table.  _ There is peace in ignorance. _

She can be his friend. It will be easy enough to do, she decides, thinking back to the prince’s generally affable nature.  _ And it seems like he needs them. _ Barbatos is his servant and Lucifer… She still hasn’t pinned down their relationship—not that she considers it her business, truly—but there’s almost an undertone of possession there that she can’t seem to shake. 

So.

A friend.

And once she’s certain that he actually cares about what she has to say, that he sees value in her opinions, she’ll warn him off of the human world. She’ll tell him to make his peace with the Celestial Realm, to forge strong alliances where he can—but that the human world at large should be off limits. That the idea of an exchange program with humans was a flawed idea from the start. Humans are too short lived, too many in number to make plucking one or two out of their lives at a time worthwhile. It might work for the angels and demons, who live centuries, but the humans will be there and then gone in a blink of his demonic eye.

It sounds good to her. She just has to make sure that it sounds good to him, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	68. The Surprise

Just as Diavolo warned, the Devildom’s winters are… disagreeable, especially to the human. The demons are unaffected, as she expected, but Solomon at least looks like he’s wearing more layers when she brushes by him in the Academy’s hallways. Like the demons, the angels don’t seem  _ too _ bothered—but Simeon offhandedly mentioned that Luke spends more time in the kitchen baking, and Eleanor wonders if that’s because the constant use of the oven heats up their area of Purgatory Hall.

Regardless, both she and Beelzebub reap the rewards; more often than not, the young angel arrives in class with some sort of baked good to share with his human friend and the demon he refuses to acknowledge as little more than an acquaintance. For the most part, Eleanor thinks Luke’s stubborn refusal of his friendship is kind of cute. Beelzebub takes it in stride, and doesn’t tease Luke as much as his brothers. Not when freshly baked bread is on the line, anyway.

She spends as much time as possible in her room, brazier blazing to fend off the chill in the air. One by one the demons in the House of Lamentation have taken to joining her; Leviathan brings a new game to play, and Mammon demands to be included on the basis of being the best at games that include an economic factor. (He isn’t. His character is bankrupt almost immediately.) Beelzebub isn’t interested in the game, but he  _ is _ interested in the proximity of her room to the kitchen and the fact that if he’s careful not to set anything on fire, he can roast marshmallows over the heat that rises from the metal. 

Satan comes, sometimes, to do some reading or writing or anything else, but the constant noise that his brothers generate end up chasing him away more often than not. And more often than not,  _ that _ is when the chaos truly begins. He’s no Lucifer when it comes to keeping his brothers in line—and Eleanor would never dare to suggest otherwise—but he’s still capable of shaming them into simmering down and minimizing whatever property damage they might be able to generate. Which is a lot. She still remembers that one of them managed to launch a pillow through an entire  _ bed _ during the retreat at the castle.

But overall, it’s… strangely peaceful, even when they bicker about whose turn it is. Not for the first time, she thinks that sometimes the demons seem strangely  _ human _ . The current squabble—relating to which one of them should get the dubious honor of being Player One—is one that she could have had with any of  _ her _ siblings. She watches them with a small smile and refuses to get involved, even when Leviathan turns to her and asks her to agree that he’s the best gamer, out of all of them. 

“I’m getting more coal,” she says instead, which is not what either one of them wants to hear. But before she can move, one of the sprites is already on it, hefting a lump of coal almost as big as itself over its head. She feels bad whenever they do something like that for her, even when she hasn’t asked for anything.  _ At least they don’t seem to mind, _ she thinks as the sprite floats over to her to rest on her shoulder. They can’t talk, but she thinks that at least they seem to like her; she’s seen them in scuffles with each other, tiny little razor-sharp teeth searching for purchase. One of her professors offhandedly mentioned that it was a form of communication between them. Eleanor is relieved that they don’t try to communicate with her the same way.

“Thanks, little buddy,” she whispers to the sprite, catching Satan’s attention as he lounges back in one of her chairs. “Do you have a name?”

The sprite squeaks at her, but doesn’t answer in a manner she can decipher. Some of them seem so close to some sort of speech that it never fails to disappoint her when they don’t quite manage it.

“They don’t have names,” Satan tells her as he flips a page in his book. It’s not in a language that Eleanor can read, but it looks very, very old. “We don’t bother with names when they’re that small and powerless.”

Eleanor pouts at Satan’s casual words before the possible meaning of his words hit her. She scoops the sprite off her shoulder and holds it close to her as if she might be able to protect it.

“They’re not, like…  _ babies, _ are they? Demon babies? Because that’s not—”  _ okay, _ she wants to end her sentence. It’s  _ definitely _ not okay that she’s seen them skulking about the castle or the House of Lamentation, completing menial tasks.  _ They should be in… preschool, or something, _ she thinks, her mind spinning wildly at the idea of the tiniest sprites in a bassinet. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Satan scolds her gently, and it’s enough for her worries to cease for a moment. Until he opens his mouth again. “They’re souls. Claimed souls.”

He slides his finger down the page he’s reading, flipping it in that careful way he has as he reaches the end. The sprite in her hands wriggles and she lets it go immediately, not sure if she feels as protective of it as she did just a moment ago.  _ Souls, _ she thinks, feeling a little sick. And then she twists one of the rings on her fingers. Satan is unperturbed by the expression of horror that flashes over her face, or the way her face shutters into an impassive mask when she notices him watching her. It’s something she’s learned from one of her classes, he’s sure; showing fear to a demon almost never ends well for the human doing it. The only problem is that now he’s not so sure he likes the assurance that she views him as a demon, even though he knows that he and his brothers have worked to remind her at every turn. 

“Very few get something for nothing, Eleanor,” he tells her. His voice is low so that his brothers can’t hear her as they grapple for the desired game controller, but her expression doesn’t change, doesn’t move from the passive, false calm she’s adopted. “You are, as in most things, an exception.”

It should make her feel better, perhaps.

She knows he said it specifically  _ to _ make her feel better, but she can’t help the uncertainty that gnaws at her gut or the shudder that crawls down her spine when the sprite winds itself through her hair again.  _ A human soul, _ she thinks as she reaches out to it, proud that she can keep her finger from shaking.  _ A human once made a deal with one of them and now this is all that remains. _ She hopes it can’t remember being human, that it doesn’t know of a time that it had its own will. She’s seen the little sprites getting bossed around, seen how the smaller ones capitulate easily to whatever it demanded of them. It’s the larger ones that push back sometimes, testing the boundaries of whatever power they’ve gained. 

But she can’t spend too much time foundering in the sea of her own thoughts because her bedroom door is flung open with enough force to bounce back off the wall it slams against.

“You,” Asmodeus says, pointing a delicately manicured nail at Eleanor as she huddles under the blanket she’s wrapped tight around her shoulders. “Should be getting ready for the party. And the  _ rest of you _ should be on your way so that she can do so in  _ peace. _ ” Satan sits up easily enough, nodding at Asmodeus’s words.

“We wouldn’t want to be late,” he agrees readily, snaring Mammon in a sharp glare before his brother can even begin to protest. To her surprise, even Asmodeus bids her goodbye as well once he sees that his brothers are leaving. 

As soon as they’re gone, she turns off the game with its distracting noise and looks to the outfit that Asmodeus picked out. She’d agreed to attend Diavolo’s party easily enough—and certainly, it would go a long way in her goal of becoming the demon prince’s friend—but she’s no longer sure she actually  _ wants _ to. But, as she’s learned from her time so far in the Devildom, what she wants has very little to do with anything at all.

So she gets ready until she thinks she’s presentable enough that not even Asmodeus will find much to criticize, and then she allows herself to leave her room. Some of the sprites follow her, but they fall back as she approaches the demon brothers. She wonders what that relationship is like; if the sprites are aware of what’s been taken from them or if they accept it or not. Some of them might not know at all, Eleanor is aware. Some of the sprites seem fare more sentient than others, and more often than not, the more sentient ones are the larger ones. By the time she reaches the main hall in the House of Lamentation, she’s utterly alone.

Asmodeus holds something else out in his arms, looking very satisfied with himself. His wings are on full display, horns polished to perfection. The thing in his arms is fluffy, huge swaths of light brown, soft-looking fur that clashes completely with what he’s wearing. He looks at her eyeing it and motions for her to move close, and as she does so she realizes that it’s a coat. 

“Al-mi’raj fur,” Asmodeus says proudly as he drapes the coat around her. “Very soft, very warm.”

Eleanor accepts it hesitantly and slides her arms through the sleeves. He’s right, at least. Not even the Devildom cold is likely to get to her through the coat. 

“Thanks,” she says, running her fingers through the fur, wondering what kind of creature it came from. Something awful, she hopes, so that she can feel better about wearing its skin. 

* * *

Barbatos, it seems, is the party’s welcome wagon. He offers their group the slightest of bows but doesn’t look away from them.

“We’ve been expecting you. Welcome to Lord Diavolo’s birthday party,” he says as he ushers them into the castle. The main hall, familiar to her now in its shades of gold and ivory, is crammed with demons. More than a few turn to look at the newcomers, and Eleanor steps behind her escorts, shielding herself from everyone else’s view. 

“May I take your coat?” Barbatos asks, but it’s a different demon who steps forward and holds his arms out. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him before, has barely considered that there were servants in the castle beyond the little sprites. The reminder that she’s among nobility—actual, real nobility—makes her uncomfortable all over again. She slides the coat off her back, handing it to the demon and missing its warmth as soon as it’s gone. 

“Ooh, I don’t think I’ve seen _ you _ before. Are you a new footman here? Just started at the Demon Lord’s Castle, have you?” The look that Asmodeus shoots the footman is pure flirt, the hand that he places on the servant’s shoulder a coquettish tease. “Listen, are you doing anything after this? Actually, we don’t even have to wait until the party’s over. I mean, I’m free right now…”

Asmodeus disappears into the crowd with the other demon, his voice trailing off as they walk away. From behind, Eleanor can’t tell if the demon is receptive to Asmodeus’s heavyhanded advances or not; she just hopes that Solomon won’t be too annoyed with him. 

“Well,” Satan says, clearing his throat. “Asmo’s already enjoying himself, it seems.” And that’s all it takes to break the tension. Eleanor laughs and follows the rest of the demons she’s accompanying further into the castle; this time, she doesn’t feel like it might swallow her up, and she can ignore some of the glances they all get. Now that their novelty has worn off, fewer and fewer of the demons seem to care about them.

Lucifer wanders off and she spots him later, speaking with Diavolo. Eleanor offers him a small wave of her hand before Satan asks her to dance, oozing his usual reserved charm. Beelzebub is off availing himself of the delicacies offered to the attendees, and Leviathan is hiding in a corner, moaning about how there are far too many people for him to be comfortable. Eleanor promises herself that she’ll take him to a more secluded place later, fairly certain that he’s only there because the rest of his family is. 

“I’ll dance with you next,” she assures Mammon when he complains about her taking Satan’s hand. He deflects his embarrassment in his usual manner while Leviathan takes the opportunity to call him a coward, and Eleanor is glad to leave the ensuing fight behind. It reminds her a little of the retreat, and she can only hope that this night doesn’t end in her wandering through a labyrinth, too.

But it isn’t long before she begs Satan off to find a seat at one of the little round tables scattered at the edge of the hall. The shoes Asmodeus picked out are gorgeous, as always, but they’re  _ killer _ on her feet, and she wonders if it would be noticeable if she took them off for too long. She picks at the food she’s snagged while she mulls her options over, pointedly ignoring how absurdly good it feels to worry about something absolutely inconsequential. The more the occupants move around, the warmer the castle gets; before long, Eleanor isn’t missing her coat at all.

“Are you having a good time?”

All she wants is to eat her suspiciously-colored dinner  _ in peace, _ but it seems that is not in the cards for her. Eleanor makes a show of cutting her food into increasingly smaller bites to avoid looking at Belphegor. 

“Of course,” she deadpans. “I  _ was, _ anyway.” He’s smart enough to connect the dots himself, she knows. As much as she wants to tell him that his mere presence ruins her evening, she doesn’t have to—he can figure that out himself. Besides, there are a few other demons lingering nearby, obviously hoping for gossip. Eleanor glares at them as they walk by as slowly as possible.

“Well then, good,” the demon replies, irritated with her answer. He places a drink in front of her, deep red and swirling with an almost luminous quality. She pushes it away immediately, hoping that nobody else drinks from it. Just in case. Though whatever poison she suspects him of putting in it likely wouldn’t hurt a demon, she reasons. Belphegor rolls his fingers across the tabletop in an irritated beat as he watches her settle back into her seat. 

“To be honest, I wasn’t particularly enthused about coming here. Parties have never really been my thing, after all. For a while, I wasn’t even sure I was going to come, but… I figured if  _ you _ were going, I had no choice, you know?”

She can’t help it. She laughs at him, all mirth removed from the noise. 

“Don’t live your life according to what  _ I _ do. It’s not like I”m going to dance with you,” Eleanor scoffs. Her appetite is gone, but she still picks at her food, moving it around her plate like a stubborn child.

“I just want to spend time with you,” Belphegor says, plaintive, and if it were  _ anyone else _ she might have believed him. For the first time since he sat down, Eleanor looks up to him, a wry smile split across her face.

“Hey, remember that time you murdered me?” She bats her eyelashes at him as she rests her chin on her fist, assuming the image of unaffected boredom. “What a riot. Ten out of ten, two thumbs up, definitely made the list for ‘most memorable moment of the year.’ No, we’ve spent plenty of time around each other. I’m good for life,  _ especially _ if that life is cut short. By you. Again.”

“Whatever,” he says. “Diavolo’s speech is starting soon.” It’s all he gives her before he stalks away. Even though she knows she is playing a very, very dangerous game with him, she can’t help the bubble of satisfaction that rises behind her ribs at his reaction. For once,  _ she’s _ not the one fleeing. While his departure isn’t as hasty as she’d have liked, she’s still grateful to see his back.

Sure enough, when she looks for the demon prince he’s the center of attention. There aren’t as many demons still inside—a good number of them have filtered out to the other activities scattered around the castle—but there’s still enough for Eleanor to wish him good luck. She hates public speaking. He makes a good-natured joke about his age which actually makes her smile and wishes for everyone to use his birthday as an opportunity to have fun. The duplicitous nature of her resolution to become his friend gnaws at her; he doesn’t seem  _ bad _ , per se, but she can’t forget the disastrous effects his program will have on her world. Can’t forget the effects it’s had on her, personally.

“... And lastly, I’d like to introduce our other guest of honor tonight! Come here, Eleanor,” he says, scanning the crowd. She pales and slinks down in her seat, wondering if it’s possible for her to sneak out the back door. Before she can put her half-baked plan into action, she feels a hand on her shoulder. Based on the glove, it’s Lucifer. 

In short order she finds herself in front of the prince, in front of what feels like thousands of interested eyes, and under a metaphorical spotlight she never wanted. While she’s stumbling her way to the center of attention, she barely hears Diavolo still speaking; she catches the words  _ great benefit _ and  _ advisor _ and knows that she is in so, so much trouble. 

“Um,” she says intelligently, wondering if she’d cause too big a scene if she passed out. “It’s… not my birthday.” Her gaze settles on Lucifer because he, at least, knows this. Sort of celebrated it with her, even. Diavolo only laughs at her statement, clapping a wide hand on the shoulder Lucifer let go of. 

“I take it Lucifer and his brothers must have wanted this to be a surprise for you. You see, tonight’s party is being thrown for you as well. It seems that Lucifer and the others would like to express their appreciation.”

She’s going to kill them all. Sure, she’d never explicitly said she  _ didn’t _ want a surprise party… But she didn’t think that was something that had to be stated. 

“Those gifts are for you,” Diavolo says, gesturing to a little table. Eleanor can barely bring herself to look at it, recognizing the wrapped packages that sit there. She’d walked in with them, after all, some tucked under the brothers’ arms.

“But I didn’t… I didn’t  _ do _ anything,” she protests. It was Lilith. Eleanor is standing in front of them all because of Lilith and her interference, brought back from the dead because Lilith wouldn’t just let her  _ go _ , and now—the most galling blow to date, the one that hurts the most and makes her want to curl up into a little ball—they’re fawning over her because she’s the last token they have of their dead sister. Her throat feels thick with building tears. 

“It might seem like that to you, sure,” Mammon says, making her stumble as he playfully slaps her on the back. When she looks back at him his face is flushed with embarrassment and he holds the offending hand back as if it’s moved on his own.  _ At least I’m not the only one making an ass out of myself tonight, _ she thinks, stifling a giggle behind her hand. Mammon’s typical slapstick antics almost always make her feel better, one way or another. 

“To us, what you've done is really, really special. And you’re really, really special to us as a person, too.”

She coughs lightly because she doesn’t want to cry, not in front of what feels like the entire Devildom. He doesn’t know it—or maybe he does, but Beezebub doesn’t strike her as the sort to play mind games—but that is exactly what she needs to hear at the moment. He doesn’t mention Lilith at all. None of them do. 

“Just say thank you,” Satan whispers into her ear. 

* * *

She manages to wriggle out of opening her gifts in front of an audience by claiming that it would be far too gauche to upstage the prince’s own birthday party. Leviathan actually takes her side, sensing in her a kindred embarrassed spirit. She squeezes his hand in thanks when nobody else is looking. 

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” She asks once the pressure is off and the next round of entertainment has started. He looks at her, golden eyes wide in surprise.

“A-alone?” It’s cute, the way red spreads across his pale face. Eleanor shrugs and pretends she doesn’t notice the slightly lewd turn his thoughts have clearly taken. 

“You don’t like crowds,” she points out. “And I’ve had enough attention for the night. Besides, with so many people in one place, I bet there’s a good raid going in Mononoke Land… and if we’re away from everyone else, Lucifer won’t get mad about us being on our phones.” Leviathan’s expression brightens and he nods, phone in his hand before she can even finish her thoughts. 

“Let’s split up until one of us finds something good,” he says, suddenly brimming with confidence. He darts away before she can say that she’d really rather walk around with him, and her outstretched arm falls uselessly to her side.  _ So much for that, _ she thinks.  _ Might as well get some fresh air anyway. _ Everything feels too close, too packed together now that she’s back in the main crowd, and while she doesn’t want to go outside into the frigid wind, she’s sure that there’s a side room she can hide out in for a few minutes.

She doesn’t dare pull her phone out until she’s outside of Lucifer’s sight, knowing that even if she’s the guest of honor, there’s no way he’d go easy on her for the transgression. He’d warn her that she is still among demons and without an escort. That the rings on her fingers mean very little if none of them can get to her, and that she shouldn’t rely on the perceived safety of the Demon Castle to protect her. And on top of that, she knows that he’d say she should keep her nose out of her phone if she was going to ignore the rest of his advice. She knows all of this, but pushes the thoughts (they’re in his voice, which she finds amusing in some way) away. 

And that is exactly how she finds herself face to face with a sleeping Belphegor, tucked away in a room that seems almost entirely filled with pillows and cushions and what looks suspiciously like sleeping mats.

_ Maybe if I’m really quiet, I can just sneak away, _ she thinks, licking her lips nervously. But one of the monsters in Mononoke Land chooses that moment to manifest digitally, sounding an alarm that balres from her phone through the room. A purple eye cracks open in the dark, illuminated by her phone screen. 

“It’s you,” Belphegor says with a yawn as Eleanor freezes.  _ I blew my chance, _ she thinks, almost frantic. She froze when she should have bolted. “Are you sure it’s okay for you to be heading off all by yourself and coming to a spot like this?”

_ Not at all, _ she almost says, but she’s still frozen in place as she watches him sit up slowly. It had been much easier in the light to antagonize him, much safer to bait him into getting angry and leaving her alone while surrounded by people who ostensibly had a reason to keep her alive. But here, in the dark with nothing but her phone screen to illuminate her surroundings, she finds her courage has deserted her. 

“I got tired of the party,” she says, and immediately winces. “I mean—I mean, Levi’s expecting me.” She wonders if he can sense the half-truth in her words. 

“You? Got tired of the party? That’s a lie.” And then she shadows on his face shift slightly, and she shudders when she realizes he’s  _ smiling. _ “You came here looking for me, didn’t you?”

“No,” she’s quick to say.

“Then, what, you’re just an expert at finding me? After I went to all the trouble of slipping out of that party and coming here to relax in peace. Or perhaps you were just drawn here.”

“Shut  _ up. _ ”

“But, to be honest, I had a feeling you might come after me.” She wants to wipe the grin right off his face.

“And  _ I _ have a feeling that you might want to be alone. So I’ll just be going.”

“Hang on. I didn’t say that, did I?” Faster than she can track, he reaches out and grabs her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. She tries to yank her hand back but he clings stubbornly to her; the only way she’s going to even have a chance at escaping his grasp is if she loses the rings on her fingers. “Has everyone given you their presents?”

“They have. Let go,” she demands, her voice tight. She tries to close out of the game on her phone without breaking eye contact with the demon and is unsuccessful.

“You know, I had a hard time deciding what to get you for a present. And maybe this isn’t very original of me, but I just kept thinking of how nervous you get around me. Like a little rabbit.”  _ No shit, _ she wants to spit at him. She settles for trying to yank her hand back again instead, wishing he’d just get to the point and either let her go or rip her throat out. His expression is always carefully blank, neutral in a way that she can’t read at all. Even Satan has trouble interpreting his brother’s expressions, which only adds fuel to the frantic thoughts circling through her mind. 

“How would you like to make me yours?”

Her mind stalls out. Goes completely blank as she tries and fails to process his words. The only thing she can manage is a strangled squeak and another tug at her hand. Belphegor laughs, which sends unpleasant shivers down her spine. 

“Don’t be so shocked. I’m asking if you’ll make a pact with me.” His voice is quiet, absurdly patient as if he’s talking to a spooked horse. Eleanor grits her teeth.

“I’m human,” she manages to grind out, hoping that that’s refusal enough. “You wanted to wipe my entire species out of existence. Remember?” He waves his hand as if his genocidal aspirations were of little import, and she can feel her blood boil.

“That’s in the past. And I know that when we ran into Solomon in town, I made it sound like I wasn’t interested in making a pact with anyone at all. But… you don’t seem like you’d turn me into your own personal servant, working me like a slave and making all sorts of absurd demands.”

“That’s because I want nothing to do with you,” she volleys back. “Now let  _ go. _ ”

“I’m not done speaking yet,” he snaps at her, and her spine stiffens at the anger creeping into his tone. Fear overrode her rational thinking, the part of her that should have reminded her that she’s alone with a very dangerous demon, one who has her in his grip already. “What I’m  _ trying _ to say is that I’d like it if I could be the closest demon to you. The first one you turn to for help whenever you need it.”

That almost draws a hysterical laugh from her, and she has to crush it behind her lips before it escapes. 

“Let's make it official,” Belphegor says, taking her lack of response as agreement. A spark of pain lances through her, coalescing over the new scar on her stomach. Panic floods her; she  _ does not want _ a permanent pact, not with Belphegor, and it’s the reminder that he needs her consent for it that keeps her from passing out entirely. 

“No,” she growls, trying to tear her hand away one more time.  _ If it has to be anything, let it be a temporary pact. A ring. Just a fucking ring that I can take off and throw at his face. _ Belphegor only releases her when the symbols of their temporary pact—the most he could force onto her—materializes on her finger. She thinks she’s going to be sick. 

“Don’t touch me,” she hisses, feeling power flood through her words. The pact snaps into action and he drops her hand like she’s burned him, holy magic flickering against his skin. She’s too overwhelmed by his unhinged determination to realize that she’s given a pact order, or that he’s been forced to comply. Instead, she stares down at the dark band and wonders if she can melt it down in her brazier. Thoughts churn through her mind, sluggish as they try to move past the lingering fear.

“This is… a punishment, isn’t it? Still? I didn’t  _ ask _ to be here, you know.” 

“I know,” he says, fingers twitching as if he’d like to reach out for her again. “I know that. And I’m grateful for that, now.” But she doesn’t listen to him because she’s heard his explanations before, his mad rationale for why he thinks he likes her. 

The next thing she realizes, close on the heels of his words, is that a pact with Belphegor could, in a cruel way, be beneficial. She could order him to go to the moon and live there until she left, to never look at her again, to not even  _ think _ of her, and he’d have to comply. That, at least, takes some of the sting away, makes her feel almost secure in his presence for the first time since he escaped his imprisonment. 

In a strange, sideways sort of manner, she finds that she’s almost thankful for the pact.

Just not in the way he’d been hoping for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to say fork it and give you guys my own spin on the sprites/little Ds since we got a little more on them in the more recent lessons. Kinda. Not really. Anyway, in this universe/canon, that's what happens when you make a deal with a powerful demon. You become a sprite at the time of your death and you serve your contracted demon pretty much forever. The bigger sprites are the more powerful ones. The more power a sprite has, the more they can do--like talk, for example.
> 
> Al-mi’raj are mythological rabbits with unicorn horns. Sorry, Eleanor, I doubt they're nasty creatures. ): (I like to think that a bunch of cryptids live in the Devildom. There's absolutely nothing in canon to support this, but I want to believe.)


End file.
